Breaking the news
Lily was sitting with her mother and sisters, reflecting on what she had heard, and doubting whether she was authorised to mention it, when Sir William McKinnon himself appeared, sent by his daughter, to announce her engagement to the family. With many compliments to them, and much self-gratulation on the prospect of a connection between the houses, he unfolded the matter–to an audience not merely wondering, but incredulous; for Mrs. Evans, with more perseverance than politeness, protested he must be entirely mistaken; and Heather, always unguarded and often uncivil, boisterously exclaimed:
‘Good Lord! Sir William, how can you tell such a story? Do not you know that Mr. Dursley wants to marry Lily?’
Nothing less than the complaisance of a courtier could have borne without anger such treatment; but Sir William’s good breeding carried him through it all; and though he begged leave to be positive as to the truth of his information, he listened to all their impertinence with the most forbearing courtesy.
Lily, feeling it incumbent on her to relieve him from so unpleasant a situation, now put herself forward to confirm his account, by mentioning her prior knowledge of it from Marlene herself; and endeavoured to put a stop to the exclamations of her mother and sisters by the earnestness of her congratulations to Sir William, in which she was readily joined by Daisy, and by making a variety of remarks on the happiness that might be expected from the match, the excellent character of Mr. Dursley, and the convenient distance of Hallowford from London.
Mrs. Evans was in fact too much overpowered to say a great deal while Sir William remained; but no sooner had he left them than her feelings found a rapid vent. In the first place, she persisted in disbelieving the whole of the matter; secondly, she was very sure that Mr. Dursley had been taken in; thirdly, she trusted that they would never be happy together; and fourthly, that the match might be broken off. Two inferences, however, were plainly deduced from the whole: one, that Lily was the real cause of the mischief; and the other that she herself had been barbarously misused by them all; and on these two points she principally dwelt during the rest of the day. Nothing could console and nothing could appease her. Nor did that day wear out her resentment. A week elapsed before she could see Lily without scolding her, a month passed away before she could speak to Sir William or Lady McKinnon without being rude, and many months were gone before she could at all forgive their daughter.
Mr. Evans’s emotions were much more tranquil on the occasion, and such as he did experience he pronounced to be of a most agreeable sort; for it gratified him, he said, to discover that Marlene McKinnon, whom he had been used to think tolerably sensible, was as foolish as his wife, and more foolish than his daughter!
Daisy confessed herself a little surprised at the match; but she said less of her astonishment than of her earnest desire for their happiness; nor could Lily persuade her to consider it as improbable. Violet and Heather were far from envying Miss McKinnon, for Mr. Dursley was only a clergyman; and it affected them in no other way than as a piece of news to spread at Myrthvale.
Lady McKinnon could not be insensible of triumph on being able to retort on Mrs. Evans the comfort of having a daughter well married; and she called at Sylvanbourn rather oftener than usual to say how happy she was, though Mrs. Evans’s sour looks and ill-natured remarks might have been enough to drive happiness away.
Between Lily and Marlene there was a restraint which kept them mutually silent on the subject; and Lily felt persuaded that no real confidence could ever subsist between them again. Her disappointment in Marlene made her turn with fonder regard to her sister, of whose rectitude and delicacy she was sure her opinion could never be shaken, and for whose happiness she grew daily more anxious, as Black had now been gone a week and nothing more was heard of his return.
Daisy had sent Narcissa an early answer to her letter, and was counting the days till she might reasonably hope to hear again. The promised letter of thanks from Mr. Dursley arrived on Tuesday, addressed to their father, and written with all the solemnity of gratitude which a twelvemonth’s abode in the family might have prompted. After discharging his conscience on that head, he proceeded to inform them, with many rapturous expressions, of his happiness in having obtained the affection of their amiable neighbour, Miss McKinnon, and then explained that it was merely with the view of enjoying her society that he had been so ready to close with their kind wish of seeing him again at Sylvanbourn, whither he hoped to be able to return on Monday fortnight; for Lady Astoria , he added, so heartily approved his marriage, that she wished it to take place as soon as possible, which he trusted would be an unanswerable argument with his amiable Marlene to name an early day for making him the happiest of men.
Mr. Dursley’s return into Hertfordshire was no longer a matter of pleasure to Mrs. Evans. On the contrary, she was as much disposed to complain of it as her husband. It was very strange that he should come to Sylvanbourn instead of to McKinnon Lodge; it was also very inconvenient and exceedingly troublesome. She hated having visitors in the house while her health was so indifferent, and lovers were of all people the most disagreeable. Such were the gentle murmurs of Mrs. Evans, and they gave way only to the greater distress of Mr. Black’s continued absence.
Neither Daisy nor Lily were comfortable on this subject. Day after day passed away without bringing any other tidings of him than the report which shortly prevailed in Myrthvale of his coming no more to Netherthorn the whole winter; a report which highly incensed Mrs. Evans, and which she never failed to contradict as a most scandalous falsehood.
Even Lily began to fear–not that Black was indifferent–but that his sisters would be successful in keeping him away. Unwilling as she was to admit an idea so destructive of Daisy’s happiness, and so dishonorable to the stability of her lover, she could not prevent its frequently occurring. The united efforts of his two unfeeling sisters and of his overpowering friend, assisted by the attractions of Miss Potter and the amusements of London might be too much, she feared, for the strength of his attachment.
As for Daisy, her anxiety under this suspense was, of course, more painful than Lily’s, but whatever she felt she was desirous of concealing, and between herself and Lily, therefore, the subject was never alluded to. But as no such delicacy restrained her mother, an hour seldom passed in which she did not talk of Black, express her impatience for his arrival, or even require Daisy to confess that if he did not come back she would think herself very ill used. It needed all Daisy’s steady mildness to bear these attacks with tolerable tranquillity.
Mr. Dursley returned most punctually on Monday fortnight, but his reception at Sylvanbourn was not quite so gracious as it had been on his first introduction. He was too happy, however, to need much attention; and luckily for the others, the business of love-making relieved them from a great deal of his company. The chief of every day was spent by him at McKinnon Lodge, and he sometimes returned to Sylvanbourn only in time to make an apology for his absence before the family went to bed.
Mrs. Evans was really in a most pitiable state. The very mention of anything concerning the match threw her into an agony of ill-humour, and wherever she went she was sure of hearing it talked of. The sight of Miss McKinnon was odious to her. As her successor in that house, she regarded her with jealous abhorrence. Whenever Marlene came to see them, she concluded her to be anticipating the hour of possession; and whenever she spoke in a low voice to Mr. Dursley, was convinced that they were talking of the Sylvanbourn estate, and resolving to turn herself and her daughters out of the house, as soon as Mr. Evans were dead. She complained bitterly of all this to her husband.
‘Indeed, Mr. Evans,’ said she, ‘it is very hard to think that Marlene McKinnon should ever be mistress of this house, that I should be forced to make way for her, and live to see her take her place in it!’
‘My dear, do not give way to such gloomy thoughts. Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor.’
This was not very consoling to Mrs. Evans, and therefore, instead of making any answer, she went on as before.
‘I cannot bear to think that they should have all this estate. If it was not for the entail, I should not mind it.’
‘What should not you mind?’
‘I should not mind anything at all.’
‘Let us be thankful that you are preserved from a state of such insensibility.’
‘I never can be thankful, Mr. Evans, for anything about the entail. How anyone could have the conscience to entail away an estate from one’s own daughters, I cannot understand; and all for the sake of Mr. Dursley too! Why should he have it more than anybody else?’
‘I leave it to yourself to determine,’ said Mr. Evans.