SANDITON
by
Jane Austen
A GENTLEMAN AND A LADY travelling from Tunbridge towards
that part of the Sussex coast which lies between Hastings and
Eastbourne, being induced by business to quit the high road and
attempt a very rough lane, were overturned in toiling up its long
a scent, half rock, half sand.
The accident happened just beyond the only gentleman's house
near the lane — a house which their driver, on being first required
to take that direction, had conceived to be necessarily their object
and had with most unwilling looks been constrained to pass by.
He had grumbled and shaken his shoulders and pitied and cut his horses
so sharply that he might have been open to the suspicion
of overturning them on purpose (especially as the carriage was
not his master's own) if the road had not indisputably become
worse than before, as soon as the premises of the said house were
left behind — expressing with a most portentous countenance that,
beyond it, no wheels but cart wheels could safely proceed.
The severity of the fall was broken by their slow pace and the
narrowness of the lane; and the gentleman having scrambled out
and helped out his companion, they neither of them at first felt
more than shaken and bruised. But the gentleman had, in the
course of the extrication, sprained his foot; and soon becoming
sensible of it, was obliged in a few moments to cut short both his
remonstrances to the driver and his congratulations to his wife and
himself and sit down on the bank, unable to stand.
&odq;There is something wrong here,&cdq; said he, putting his hand to
his anle. &odq;But never mind, my dear,&cdq; looking up at her with a
smile, &odq;it could not have happened, you know, in a better place
Good out of evil. The very thing perhaps to be wished for. We
shall soon get relief. There, I fancy, lies my cure,&cdq; pointing to
the neat-looking end of a cottage, which was seen romantically
situated among wood on a high eminence at some little distance
&odq;Does not that promise to Be the very place?&cdq;
His wife fervently hoped it was; but stood, terrified and anxious,
neither able to do or suggest anything, and receiving her first real
comfort from the sight of several persons now coming to their
assistance.
The accident had been discerned from a hayfield adjoining the
house they had passed. And the persons who approached were
a well-looking, hale, gentlemanlike man of middle age, the
proprietor of the place, who happened to be among his haymakers
at the time, and three or four of the ablest of them summoned to
attend their master— to say nothing of all the rest of the field,
men, women and children, not very far off.
Mr. Heywood, such was the name of the said proprietor,
advanced with a very civil salutation, much concern for the
accident, some surprise at anybody's attempting that road in a
carriage, and ready offers of assistance.
His courtesies were received with good breeding and gratitude,
and while one or two of the men lent their help to the driver in
getting the carriage upright again, the traveller said,
&odq;You are extremely obliging, sir, and I take you at your word—
The injury to my leg is, I dare say, very trifling. But it is always
best in these cases, you know, to have a surgeon's opinion without
loss of time; and as the road does not seem in a favourable state
for my getting up to his house myself, I will thank you to send off
one of these good people for the surgeon.&cdq;
&odq;The surgeon!&cdq; exclaimed Mr. Heywood. &odq;I am afraid you will
find no surgeon at hand here, but I dare say we shall do very well
without him.&cdq;
&odq;Nay sir, if he is not in the way, his partner will do just as
well — or rather better. I would rather see his partner. Indeed
I would prefer the attendance of his partner. One of these good
people can be with him in three minutes, I am sure. I need not
ask whether I see the house,&cdq; looking towards the cottage, &odq;for
excepting your own, we have passed none in this place which can
be the abode of a gentleman.&cdq;
Mr. Heywood looked very much astonished.
&odq;What, sir! Are you expecting to find a surgeon in that
cottage? We have neither surgeon nor partner in the parish, I
assure you.&cdq;
&odq;Excuse me, sir,&cdq; replied the other. &odq;I am sorry to have the
appearance of contradicting you, but from the extent of the parish
or some other cause you may not be aware of the fact — stay —
can I be mistaken in the place? Am I not in Willingden? Is not
this Willingden?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, sir, this is certainly Willingden.&cdq;
&odq;Then, sir, I can bring proof of your having a surgeon in the
parish, whether you may know it or not. Here, sir,&cdq; taking out
his pocket book, &odq;if you will do me the favor of casting your eye
over these advertisements which I cut out myself from the Morning
Post and the Kentish Gazette only yesterday morning in London,
I think you will be convinced that I am not speaking at random.
You will find in it an advertisement of the dissolution of a partnership
in the medical line — in your own parish — exttensive business
— undeniable character — respectable references — wishing
to form a separate establishment. You will find it at full length,
sir,' offering the two little oblong extracts.
&odq;Sir, if you were to show me all the newspapers that are printed
in one week throughout the kingdom, you would not persuade
me of there being a surgeon in Willingden,&cdq; said Mr. Heywood
with a good-humoured smile. &odq;Having lived here ever since I was
born, man and boy fifty-seven years, I think I must have known
of such a person. At least I may venture to say that he has not
much business. To be sure, if gentlemen were to be often
attempting this lane in post-chaises, it might not be a bad
speculation for a surgeon to get a house at the top of the hill. But
as to that cottage, I can assure you, sir, that it is in fact, in spite
of its spruce air at this distance, as indifferent a double tenement
as any in the parish, and that my shepherd lives at one end and
three old women at the other.&cdq;
He took the pieces of paper as he spoke, and, having looked
them over, added,
&odq;I believe I can explain it, sir. Your mistake is in the place.
There are two Willingdens in this country. And your advertisements
must refer to the other, which is Great Willingden or
Willingden Abbots, and lies seven miles off on the other side of
Battle. Quite down in the weald. And we, sir,&cdq; he added, speaking
rather proudly, &odq;are not in the weald.&cdq;
&odq;Not down in the weald, I am sure,&cdq; replied the traveller
pleasantly. &odq;It took us half an hour to climb your hill. Well, I dare
say it is as you say and I have made an abominably stupid blunder.
All done in a moment. The advertisements did not catch my eye
till the last half hour of our being in town — everything in the
hurry and confusion which always attend a short stay there. One
is never able to complete anything in the way of business, you
know, till the carriage is at the door. So satisfying myself with
a brief inquiry, and finding we were actually to pass within a mile
or two of a Willingden, I sought no farther.... My dear&cdq; (to
his wife) &odq;I am very sorry to have brought you into this scrape.
But do not be alarmed about my leg. It gives me no pain while
I am quiet. And as soon as these good people have succeeded in
setting the carriage to rights and turning the horses round, the best
thing we can do will be to measure back our steps into the turnpike
road and proceed to Hailsham, and so home without attempting
anything farther. Two hours take us home from Hailsham.
And once at home, we have our remedy at hand, you know. A
little of our own bracing sea air will soon set me on my feet
again. Depend upon it, my dear, it is exactly a case for the sea.
Saline air and immersion will be the very thing. My sensations
tell me so already.&cdq;
In a most friendly manner Mr. Heywood here interposed,
entreating them not to think of proceeding till the ankle had been
examined and some refreshment taken, and very cordially pressing
them to make use of his house for both purposes.
&odq;We are always well stocked,&cdq; said he, &odq;with all the common
remedies for sprains and bruises. And I will answer for the
pleasure it will give my wife and daughters to be of service to you
in every way in their power.&cdq;
A twinge or two, in trying to move his foot, disposed the
traveller to think rather more than he had done at first of the
benefit of immediate assistance; and consulting his wife in the
few words of &odq;Well, my dear, I believe it will be better for us,' he
turned again to Mr. Heywood.
'Before we accept your hospitaliey sir, and in order to do away
with any unfavourable impression which the sort of wild-goose
chase you find me in may have given rise to— allow me to tell
you who we are. My name is Parker, Mr. Parker of Sanditon;
this lady, my wife, Mrs. Parker. We are on our road home from
London. My name perhaps — though I am by no means the first
of my family holding landed property in the parish of Sanditon
— may be unknown at this distance from the coast. But Sanditon
itself — everybody has heard of Sanditon. The favourite — for
a young and rising bathing-place — certainly the favourite spot
of all that are to be found along the coast of Sussex; the most
favoured by nature, and promising to be the most chosen by man.—&cdq;
&odq;Yes, I have heard of Sanditon,&cdq; replied Mr. Heywood. &odq;Every
five years, one hears of some new place or other starting up by the
sea and growing the fashion. How they can half of them be filled
is the wonder! Where people can be found with money and time
to go to them! Bad things for a country — sure to raise the price
of provisions and make the poor good for nothing — as I dare
say you find, sir.&cdq;
&odq;Not at all, sir, not at all,&cdq; cried Mr. Parker eagerly. &odq;Quite
the contrary, I assure you. A common idea, but a mistaken one.
It may apply to your large, overgrown places like Brighton or
Worthing or Eastbourne — but not to a small village like Sanditon,
precluded by its size from experiencing any of the evils of
civilization; while the growth of the place, the buildings, the
nursery grounds, the demand for everything and the sure resort
of the very best company — those regular, steady, private families
of thorough gentility and character who are a blessing everywhere
— excite the industry of the poor and diffuse comfort and improvement
among them of every sort. No sir, I assure you,
Sanditon is not a place — &odq;
&odq;I do not mean to take exception to any place in particular,&cdq;
answered Mr. Heywood. &odq;I only think our coast is too full of
them altogether. But had we not better try to get you — &odq;
Our coast too full!&cdq; repeated Mr. Parker. &odq;On that point perhaps
we may not totally disagree. At least there are enough.
Our coast is abundant enough. It demands no more. Everybody's
taste and everybody's finances may be suited. And those
good people who are trying to add to the number are, in my
opinion, excessively absurd and must soon find themselves the
dupes of their own fallacious calculations. Such a place as
Sanditon, sir, I may say was wanted, was called for. Nature had
marked it out, had spoken in most intelligible characters. The
finest, purest sea breeze on the coast — acknowledged to be so —
excellent bathing — fine hard sand — deep water ten yards from
the shore — no mud — no weeds — no slimy rocks. Never was
there a place more palpably designed by nature for the resort of
the invalid — the very spot which thousands seemed in need of!
The most desirable distance from London! One complete,
measured mile nearer than Eastbourne. Only conceive, sir, the
advantage of saving a whole mile in a long journey. But
Brinshore, sir, which I dare say you have in your eye — the
attempts of two or three speculating people about Brinshore this
last year to raise that paltry hamlet — lying as it does between a
stagnant marsh, a bleak moor and the constant effluvia of a ridge
of putrefying seaweed — can end in nothing but their own disappointment.
What in the name of common sense is to
recommend Brinshore? A most insalubrious air — roads
proverbially detestable — water brackish beyond example,
impossible to get a good dish of tea within three miles of the
place. And as for the soil — it is so cold and ungrateful that
it can hardly be made to yield a cabbage. Depend upon it, sir,
that this is a most faithful description of Brinshore — not in
the smallest degree exaggerated — and if you have heard it
differently spoken of — &odq;
&odq;Sir, I never heard it spoken of in my life before,&cdq; said Mr.
Heywood. &odq;I did not know there was such a place in the world.&cdq;
&odq;You did not! There, my dear,&cdq; turning with exultation to his
wife, &odq;you see how it is. So much for the celebrity of Brinshore!
This gentleman did not know there was such a place in the world.
Why, in truth, sir, I fancy we may apply to Brinshore that line of
the poet Cowper in his description of the religious cottager, as
opposed to Voltaire — &onq;She, never heard of half a mile from
home.&cnq;&cdq;
&odq;With all my heart, sir— apply any verses you like to it. But
I want to see something applied to your leg. And I am sure by
your lady's countenance that she is quite of my opinion and
thinks it a pity to lose any more time. And here come my
girls to speak for themselves and their mother.&cdq; Two or three
genteel-looking young women, followed by as many maid servants,
were now seen issuing from the house. &odq;I began to wonder the
bustle should not have reached them. A thing of this kind soon
makes a stir in a lonely place like ours, Now, sir, let us see how
you can be best conveyed into the house.&cdq;
The young ladies approached and said everything that was
proper to recommend their father's offers, and in an unaffected
manner calculated to make the strangers easy. As Mrs. parker
was etceedingly anxious for relief — and her husband by this time
not much less disposed for it — a very few civil scruples were
enough; especially as the carriage, being now set up, was discovered
to have received such injury on the fallen side as to be
unfit for present use. Mr. Parker was therefore carried into the
house and his carriage wheeled off to a vacant barn.
THE ACQUAINTANCE, thus oddly begun, was neither short nor
unimportant. For a whole fortnight the travellers were fixed at
Willingden, Mr. Parker's sprain proving too serious for him to
move sooner. He had fallen into very good hands. The Heywoods
were a thoroughly respectable family and every possible attention
was paid, in the kindest and most unpretending manner, to both
husband and wife. He was waited on and nursed, and she cheered
and comforted with unremitting kindness; and as every office of
hospitality and friendliness was received as it ought, as there was
not more good will on one side than gratitude on the other, nor
any deficiency of generally pleasant manners in either, they grew to
like each other in the course of that fortnight exceedingly well.
Mr. parker's character and history were soon unfolded. All
that he understood of himself, he readily told, for he was very
openhearted; and where he might be himself in the dark, his
conversation was still giving information to such of the Heywoods
as could observe. By such he was perceived to be an enthusiast
— on the subject of Sanditon, a complete enthusiast. Sanditon,
the success of Sanditon as a small, fashionable bathing place, was
the object for which he seemed to live.
A very few years ago, it had been a quiet village of no pretensions;
but some natural advantages in its position and some
accidental circumstances having stiggested to himself and the
other principal landholder the probability of its becoming a
profitable speculation, they had engaged in it, and planned and
built, and praised and puffed, and raised it to something of young
renown; and Mr. Parker could now think of very little besides.
The facts which, in more direct communication, he laid before
them were that he was about five and thirty, had been married —
very happily married — seven years, and had four sweet children
at home; that he was of a respectable family and easy, though
not large, fortune; no profession — succeeding as eldest son to the
property which two or three generations had been holding and
accumulating before him; that he had two brothers and two
sisters, all single and all independent — the eldest of the two
former indeed, by collateral inheritance, quite as well provided for
as himself.
His object in quitting the high road to hunt for an advertising
surgeon was also plainly stated. It had not proceeded from any
intention of spraining his ankle or doing himself any other injury
for the good of such surgeon, nor (as Mr. Heywood had been apt
to suppose) from any design of entering into partnership with
him; it was merely in consequence of a wish to establish some
medical man at Sanditon, which the nature of the advertisement
induced him to expect to accomplish in Willingden. He was
convinced that the advantage of a medical man at hand would
very materially promote the rise and prosperity of the place,
would in fact tend to bring a prodigious influx; nothing else was
wanting. He had strong reason to believe that one family had
been deterred last year from trying Sanditon on that account —
and probably very many more — and his own sisters, who were
sad invalids and whom he was very anxious to get to Sanditon
this summer, could hardly be expected to hazard themselves in
a place where they could not have immediate medical advice.
Upon the whole, Mr. parker was evidently an amiable family
man, fond of wife, children, brothers and sisters, and generally
kind-hearted; liberal, gentlemanlike, easy to please; of a sanguine
turn of mind, with more imagination than judgement. And Mrs.
Parker was as evidently a gentle, amiable, sweet-tempered woman,
the properest wife in the world for a man of strong understanding
but not of a capacity to supply the cooler reflection
which her own husband sometimes needed; and so entirely waiting
to be guided on every occasion that whether he was risking his
fortune or spraining his ankle, she remained equally useless.
Sanditon was a second wife and four children to him, hardly
less dear, and certainly more engrossing. He could talk of it
forever. lt had indeed the highest claims; not only those of
birthplace, property and home; it was his mine, his lottery, his
speculation and his hobby horse; his occupation, his hope and his
futurity.
He was extremely desirous of drawing his good friends at
Willingden thither; and his endeavours in the cause were as
grateful and disinterested as they were warm. He wanted to
secre the promise of a visit, to get as many of the family as his
own house would contain to follow him to Sanditon as soon as
possible; and, healthy as they all undeniably were, foresaw that
every one of them would be benefited by the sea.
He held it indeed as certain that no person could be really well,
no person (however upheld for the present by fortuitous aids of
exercise and spirits in a semblance of health) could be really in a
state of secure and permanent health without spending at least
six weeks by the sea every year. The sea air and sea bathing together
were nearly infallible, one or the other of them being a
match for every disorder of the stomach, the lungs or the blood.
They were anti-spasmodic, anti-pulmonary, anti-septic, anti-billious
and anti-rheumatic. Nobody could catch cold by the sea;
nobody wanted appetite by the sea; nobody wanted spirits; nobody
wanted strength. Sea air was healing, softening, relaxing —
fortifying and bracing — seemingly just as was wanted — sometimes
one, sometimes the other. If the sea breeze failed, the sea-bath
was the certain corrective; and where bathing disagreed,
the sea air alone was evidently designed by nature for the cure.
His eloquence, however, could not prevail. Mr. and Mrs.
Heywood never left home. Marrying early and having a very
numerous family, their movements had, long been limited to one
small circle; and they were older in habits than in age. Excepting
two journeys to London in the year to receive his dividends, Mr.
Heywood went no farther than his feet or his well-tried old horse
could carry him; and Mrs. Heywood's adventurings were only now
and then to visit her neighbours in the old coach which had been
new when they married and fresh-lined on their eldest son's coming
of age ten years ago.
They had a very pretty property; enough, had their family been
of reasonable limits, to have allowed them a very gentlemanlike
share of luxuries and change; enough for them to have indulged in
a new carriage and better roads, an occasional month at Tunbridge
Wells, and symptoms of the gout and a winter at Bath,
But the maintenance, education and fitting out of fourteen children
demanded a very quiet, settled, careful course of life, and obliged
them to be stationary and healthy at Willingden. What prudence
had at first enjoined was now rendered pleasant by habit. They
never left home and they had gratification in saying so.
But very far from wishing their children to do the same, they
were glad to promote their getting out into the world as much as
possible. They stayed at home that their children might get out;
and, while making that home extremely comfortable, welcomed
every change from it which could give useful connections or
respectable acquaintance to sons or daughters.
When Mr. and Mrs. Parker, therefore, ceased from soliciting
a family visit and bounded their views to carrying back one
daughter with them, no difficulties were started. lt was general
pleasure and consent.
Their invitation was to Miss Charlotte Heywood, a very pleasing
young woman of two and twenty, the eldest of the daughters
at home and the one who, under her mother's directions, had been
particularly useful and obliging to them; who had attended them
most and knew them best.
Charlotte was to go: with excellent health, to bathe and be
better if she could; to receive every possible pleasure which
Sanditon could made to supply by the gratitude of those she
went with; and to buy new parasols, new gloves and new brooches
for her sisters and herself at the library, which Mr. Parker was
anxiously wishing to support.
All that Mr. Heywood himself could be persuaded to promise
was that he would send everyone to Sanditon who asked his
advice, and that nothing should ever induce him (as far as the
future could be answered for) to spend even five shilling at
Brinstore.
EVERY NEIGHBOURHOOD should have a great lady. The great
lady of Sanditon was Lady Denham; and in their journey from
Willingden to the coast, Mr. Parker gave Charlotte a more detailed
account of her than had been called for before. She had been
necessarily often mentioned at Willingden — for being his colleague
in speculation, Sanditon itself could not be talked of long
without the introduction of Lady Denham. That she was a very
rich old lady, who had buried two husbands, who knew the value
of money, and was very much looked up to and had a poor cousin
living with her, were facts already known; but some further particulars
of her history and her character served to lighten the
tediousness of a long hill, or a heavy bit of road, and to give the
visiting young lady a suitable knowledge of the person with
whom she might now expect to be daily associating.
Lady Denham had been a rich Miss Brereton, born to wealth
but not to education. Her first husband had been a Mr. Hollis, a
man of considerable property in the country, of which a large share
of the parish of Sanditon, with manor and mansion house, made a
part. He had been an elderly man when she married him, her
own age about thirty. Her motives for such a match could be
little understood at the distance of forty years, but she had so well
nursed and pleased Mr. Hollis that at his death he left her everything
— all his estates, and all at her disposal.
After a widowhood of some years, she had been induced to
marry again. The late Sir Harry Denham, of Denham Park in the
neighbourhood of Sanditon, had succeeded in removing her and her
large income to his own domains, but he could not succeed in the
views of permanently enriching his family which were attributed
to him. She had been too wary to put anything out of her own
power and when, on Sir Harry's decease, she returned again to her
own house at Sanditon, she was said to have made this boast to a
friend: &odq;that though she had got nothing but her title from the
family, still she had given nothing for it. For the title, it was to
be supposed, she had married; and Mr. Parker acknowledged there
being just such a degree of value for it apparent now as to give her
conduct that natural explanation.
&odq;There is at times,&cdq; said he, &odq;a little self-importance — but it is
not offensive — and there are moments, there are points, when her
love of money is carried greatly too far. But she is a good-natured
woman, a very good-natured woman — a very obliging, friendly
neighbour; a cheerful, independent, valuable character — and her
faults may be entirely imputed to her want of education. She has
good natural sense, but quite uncultivated. She has a fine active
mind as well as a fine healthy frame for a woman of seventy, and
enters into the improvement of Sanditon with a spirit truly
admirable. Though now and then, a littleness will appear. She
cannot look forward quite as I would have her and takes alarm at
a trifling present expense without considering what returns it will
make her in a year or two. That is, we think differently. We now
and then see things differently, Miss Heywood. Those who tell
their own story, you know, must be listened to with caution.
When you see us in contact, you will judge for yourself.&cdq;
Lady Denham was indeed a great lady beyond the common
wants of society, for she had many thousands a year to bequeath,
and three distinct sets of people to be courted by: her own relations,
who might very reasonably wish for her original thirty thousand
pounds among them; the legal heirs of Mr. Hollis, who must hope
to be more indebted to her sense of justice than he had allowed
them to be to his; and those members of the Denham family whom
her second husband had hoped to make a good bargain for.
By all of these, or by branches of them, she had no doubt been
long, and still continued to be, well attacked; and of these three
divisions, Mr. parker did not hesitate to say that Mr. Hollis's
kindred were the least in favour and Sir Harry Denham's the
most. The former, he believed, had done themselves irremediable
harm by expressions of very unwise and unjustifiable resentment
at the time of Mr. Hollis's death; the latter had the advantage of
being the remnant of a connection which she certainly valued, of
having been known to her frosn their childhood and of being
always at hand to preserve their interest by reasonable attention.
Sir Edward, the present baronet, nephew to Sir Harry, resided
constantly at Denham Park; and Mr. Parker had little doubt that
he and his sister, Miss Denham, who lived with him, would be
principally remembered in her will. He sincerely hoped it. Miss
Denham had a very small provision; and her brother was a poor
man for his rank in society.
&odq;He is a warm friend to Sanditon,&cdq; said Mr. Parker, &odq;and his
hand would be as liberal as his heart, had he the power. He would
be a noble coadjutor! As it is, he does what he can and is running
up a tasteful little cottage orne on a strip of waste ground Lady
Denham has granted him, which I have no doubt we shall have
many a candidate for before the end even of this season.&cdq;
Till within the last twelvemonth, Mr. Parker had considered
Sir Edward as standing without a rival, as having the fairest
chance of succeeding to the greater part of all that she had to give;
but there were now another person's claims to be taken into
account — those of the young female relation whom Lady Denham
had been induced to receive into her family. After having always
protested against any such addition, and long and often enjoyed the
repeated defeats she had given to every attempt of her relations to
introduce this young lady or that young lady as a companion at
Sanditon House, she had brought back with her from London
last Michaelmas a Miss Brereton, who bid fair by her merits to vie
in favour with Sir Edward and to secure for herself and her family
that share of the accumulated property which they had certainly
the best right to inherit.
Mr. parker spoke warmly of Clara Brereton, and the interest of
his story increased very much with the introduction of such a
character. Charlotte listened with more than amusement now; it
was solicitude and enjoyment, as she heard her described to be
lovely, amiable, gentle, unassuming, conducting herself uniformly
with great good sense, and evidently gaining by her innate worth
on the affections of her patroness. Beauty, sweetness, poverty and
dependence do not want the imagination of a man to operate
upon; with due exceptions, woman feels for woman very promptly
and compassionately. He gave the particulars which had led to
Clara's admission at Sanditon as no bad exemplification of that
mixture of character — that union of littleness with kindness and
good sense, even liberality — which he saw in Lady Denham.
After having avoided London for many years, principally on
account of these very cousins who were continually writing,
inviting and tormenting her, and whom she was determined to
keep at a distance, she had been obliged to go there last Michaelmas
with the certainty of being detained at least a fortnight.
She had gone to a hotel, living by her own account as prudently
as possible to defy the reputed expensiveness of such a home, and
at the end of three days calling for her bill that she might judge of
her state. Its amount was such as determined her on staying not
another hour in the house, and she was preparing — in all the
anger and perturbation of her belief in very gross imposition and
her ignorance of where to go for better usage — to leave the hotel at
all hazards, when the cousins, the politic and lucky cousins, who
seemed always to have a spy on her, introduced themselves at this
important moment; and learning her situation, persuaded her to
accept such a home for the rest of her stay as their humbler house
in a very inferior part of London could offer.
She went, was delighted with her welcome and the hospitality
and attention she received from everybody; found her good
cousins the Breretons beyond her expectation worthy people; and
finally was impelled by a personal knowledge of their narrow
income and pecuniary difficulties to invite one of the girls of the
family to pass the winter with her.
The invitation was to one, for six months, with the probability
of another being then to take her place; but in selecting the one,
Lady Denham had shown the good part of her character
For, passing by the actual daughters of the house, she had chosen
Clara, a niece, more helpless and more pitiable of course than
any — a dependent on poverty — an additional burden on an encumbered
circle; and one who had been so low in every worldly
view as, with all her natural endowments and powers, to have
been preparing for a situation little better than a nursery maid.
Clara had returned with her and by her good sense and merit
had now, to all appearance, secured a very strong hold in Lady
Denham's regard. The six months had long been over and not a
syllable was breathed of any change or exchange. She was a
general favourite. The influence of her steady conduct and mild,
gentle temper was felt by everybody. The prejudices which had
met her at first, in some quarters, were all dissipated. She was
felt to be worthy of trust, to be the very companion who would
guide and soften Lady Denham, who would enlarge her mind and
open her hand. She was as thoroughly amiable as she was lovely;
and since having had the advantage of their Sanditon breezes, that
loveliness was complete.
&odq;AND WHOSE very snug-looking place is this?&cdq; said Charlotte as,
in a sheltered dip within two miles of the sea, they passed close
by a moderate-sized house, well fenced and planted, and rich in the
garden, orchard and meadows which are the best embellishments
of such a dwelling. &odq;It seems to have as many comforts about it as
Willingden.&cdq;
&odq;Ah,&cdq; said Mr. parker. &odq;This is my old house, the house of my
forefathers, the house where I and all my brothers and sisters
were born and bred, and where my own three eldest children
were born; where Mrs. Parker and I lived till within the last two
years, till our new house was finished. I am glad you are pleased
with it. It is an honest old place; and Hillier keeps it in very good
order. I have given it up, you know, to the man who occupies the
chief of my land. He gets a better house by it, and I, a rather
better situation! One other hill brings us to Sanditon — modern
Sanditon — a beautiful spot. Our ancestors, you know, always
built in a hole, Here were we, pent down in this little contracted
nook, without air or view, only one mile and three quarters from
the noblest expanse of ocean between the South Foreland and
Land's End, and without the smallest advantage from it. You will
not think I have made a bad exchange when we reach Trafalgar
House — which by the bye, I almost wish I had not named
Trafalgar — for Waterloo is more the thing now. However,
Waterloo is in reserve; and if we have encouragement enough this
year for a little crescent to be ventured on (as I trust we shall)
then we shall be able to call it Waterloo Cresent — and the name
joined to the form of the building, which always takes, will give us
the command of lodgers. In a good season we should have more
applications than we could attend to.&cdq;
&odq;It was always a very comfortable house,&cdq; said Mrs. Parker,
looking at it through the back window with something like the
fondness of regret. &odq;And such a nice garden — such an excellent
garden.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, my love, but that we may be said to carry with us. It
supplies us, as before, with all the fruit and vegetables we want.
And we have, in fact, all the comfort of an excellent kitchen garden
without the constant eyesore of its formalities or the yearly
nuisance of its decaying vegetation. Who can endure a cabbage
bed in October?&cdq;
&odq;Oh dear, yes. We are quite as well off for gardenstuff as ever
we were; for if it is forgot to be brought at any time, we can always
buy what we want at Sanditon House. The gardener there is glad
enough to supply us. But it was a nice place for the children to
run about in. So shady in summer!&cdq;
&odq;My dear, we shall have shade enough on the hill, and more
than enough in the course of a very few years. The growth of my
plantations is a general astonishment. In the meanwhile we have
the canvas awning which gives us the most complete comfort
within doors. And you can get a parasol at Whitby's for little
Mary at any time, or a large bonnet at Jebb's. And as for the
boys, I must say I would rather them run about in the sunshine
than not. I am sure we agree, my dear, in wishing our boys to be
as hardy as possible.&cdq;
&odq;Yes indeed, I am sure we do. And I will get Mary a little
parasol, which will make her as proud as can be. How grave she
will walk about with it and fancy herself quite a little woman.
Oh, I have not the smallest doubt of our being a great deal better
off where we are now. If we any of us want to bathe, we have not
a quarter of a mile to go. But you know,&cdq; still looking back,
&odq;one loves to look at an old friend at a place where one has been
happy— The Milliers did not seem to feel the storms last winter
at all. I remember seeing Mrs. Millier after one of those dreadful
nights, when we had been literally rocked in our bed, and she did
not seem at all aware of the wind being anything more than
common.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, yes, that's likely enough. We have all the grandeur of the
storm with less real danger because the wind, meeting with
nothing to oppose or confine it around our house, simply rages
and passes on; while down in this gutter, nothing is known of the
state of the air below the tops of the trees; and the inhabitants may
be taken totally unawares by one of those dreadful currents,
which do more mischief in a valley when they do arise than an
open country ever experiences in the heaviest gale. But, my dear
love, as to gardenstuff, you were saying that any accidental
omission is supplied in a moment by Lady Denham's gardener.
But it occurs to me that we ought to go elsewhere upon such
occasions, and that old Stringer and his son have a higher claim.
I encouraged him to set up, you know, and am afraid he does
not do very well. That is, there has not been time enough yet.
He will do very well beyond a doubt. But at first it is uphill
work, and therefore we must give him what help we can. When
any vegetables or fruit happen to be wanted — and it will not be
amiss to have them often wanted, to have something or other
forgotten most days; just to have a nominal supply, you know,
that poor old Andrew may not lose his daily job— but in fact
to buy the chief of our consumption from the Stringers.&cdq;
&odq;Very well, my love, that can be easily done. And cook will
be satisfied, which will be a great comfort, for she is always
complaining of old Andrew now and says he never brings
her what she wants. There — now the old house is quite left
behind. What is it your brother Sidney says about its being
a hospital?&cdq;
&odq;Oh, my dear Mary, merely a joke of his. He pretends to
advise me to make a hospital of it. Me pretends to laugh at my
improvements. Sidney says anything, you know. He has always
said what he chose, of and to us all. Most families have such a
member among them, I believe, Miss Heywood. There is someone
in most families privileged by superior abilities or spirits to
say anything. In ours, it is Sidney, who is a very clever young
man and with great powers of pleasing. He lives too much in the
world to be settled; that is his only fault. Me is here and there
and everywhere. I wish we may get him to Sanditon. I should
like to have you acquainted with him. And it would be a fine
thing for the place! Such a young man as Sidney, with his neat
equipage and fashionable air. You and I, Mary, know what effect
it might have. Many a respectable family, many a careful mother,
many a pretty daughter might it secure us to the prejudice of
Eastbourne and Hastings.&cdq;
They were now approaching the church and neat village of old
Sanditon, which stood at the foot of the hill they were afterwards to
ascend — a hill whose side was covered with the woods and
enclosures of Sanditon House and whose height ended in an open
down where the new buildings might soon be looked for. A
branch only of the valley, winding more obliquely towards the sea,
gave a passage to an inconsiderable stream, and formed at its
mouth a third habitable division in a small cluster of fishermen's
houses. The original village contained little more than cottages;
but the spirit of the day had been caught, as Mr. Parker observed
with delight to Charlotte, and two Dr three of the best of them were
smartened up with a white curtain and &odq;Lodgings to let&cdq;; and
farther on, in the little green court of an old farm house, two
females in elegant white were actually to be seen with their books
and camp stools; and in turning the corner of the baker's shop,
the sound of a harp might be heard through the upper casement,
Such sights and sounds were highly blissful to Mr. Parker.
Not that he had any personal concern in the success of the village
itself; for considering it as too remote from the beach, he had done
nothing there; but it was a most valuable proof of the increasing
fashion of the place altogether. If the village could attract, the
hill might be nearly full. He anticipated an amazing season. At
the same time last year (late in July) there had not been a single
lodger in the village! Nor did he remember any during the whole
summer, excepting one family of children who came from London
for sea air after the whooping cough, and whose mother would
not let them be nearer the shore for fear of their tumbling in.
'Civilization, civilization indeed!&cdq; cried Mr. Parker, delighted.
&odq;Look, my dear Mary, look at William Heeley's windows. Blue
shoes, and nankin boots! Who would have expected such a
sight at a shoemaker&cdq;s in old Sanditon! This is new within the
month. There was no blue shoe when we passed this way a month
ago. Glorious indeed! Well, I think I have done something in
my day. Now, for our hill, our health-breathing hill.&cdq;
In ascending, they passed the lodge gates of Sanditon House
and saw the top of the house itself among its groves. It was the
last building of former days in that line of the parish. A little
higher up, the modern began; and in crossing the down, a
prospect House, a Bellevue Cottage and a Denham Place were
to be looked at by Charlotte with the calmness of amused
curiosity, and by Mr. parker with the eager eye which hoped to
see scarcely any empty houses. More bills at the windows than
he had calculated on, and a smaller show of company on the hill
— fewer carriages, fewer walkers. He had fancied it just the
time of day for them to be all returning from their airings to
dinner; but the sands and the Terrace always attracted some, and
the tide must be flowing — about half-tide now. He longed to be
on the sands, the cliffs, at his own house, and everywhere out of
his house at once. His spirits rose with the very sight of the sea
and he could almost feel his ankle getting stronger already.
Trafalgar House, on the most elevated spot on the down, was
a light, elegant building, standing in a small lawn with a very
young plantation round it, about a hundred yards from the brow
of a steep but not very lofty cliff, and the nearest to it of every
building, excepting one short row of smart-looking houses called
the Terrace, with a broad walk in front, aspiring to be the Mall of
the place. In this row were the best milliner's shop and the library
a little detached from it, the hotel and billiard room. Here began
the descent to the beach and to the bathing machines. And this
was therefore the favourite spot for beautey and fashion.
At Trafalgar House, rising at a little distance behind the Terrace,
the travellers were safely set down; and all was happiness and joy
between Papa and Mama and their children; while Charlotte,
having received possession of her apartment, found amusement
enough in standing at her ample Venetian window and looking
over the miscellaneous foreground of unfinished buildings, waving
linen and tops of houses, to the sea, dancing and sparkling in
sunshine and freshness.
WHEN THEY MET before dinner, Mr. Parker was looking over letters.
&odq;Not a line from Sidney!&cdq; said he. &odq;He is an idle fellow. I
sent him an account of my accident from Willingden and thought
he would have vouchsafed me an answer. But perhaps it implies
that he is coming himself. I trust it may. But here is a letter
from one of my sisters. They never fail me. Women are the
only correspondents to be depended on. Now, Mary,&cdq; smiling
at his wife, &odq;before I open it, what shall we guess as to the state of
health of those it comes from — or rather what would Sidney
say if he were here? Sidney is a saucy fellow, Miss Heywood.
And you must know, he will have it there is a good deal of
imagination in my two sisters' complaints. But it really is not
so — or very little. They have wretched health, as you have
heard us say frequently, and are subject to a variety of very serious
disorders. Indeed, I do not believe they know what a day's health
is. And at the same time, they are such excellent useful women
and have so much energy of character that where any good is to
be done, they force themselves on exertions which, to those who
do not thoroughly know them, have an extraordinary appearance.
But there is really no affectation about them, you know. They
have only weaker constitutions and stronger minds than are often
met with, either separate or together. And our youngest brother,
who lives with them and who is not much above twenty, I am
sorry to say is almost as great an invalid as themselves. He is so
delicate that he can engage in no profession. Sidney laughs at
him. But it really is no joke, though Sidney often makes me
laugh at them all in spite of myself. Now, if he were here, I know
he would be offering odds that either Susan, Diana or Arthur
would appear by this letter to have been at the point of death
within the last month.&cdq;
Having run his eye over the letter, he shook his head and
began,
&odq;No chance of seeing them at Sanditon I am sorry to say. A
very indifferent account of them indeed. Seriously, a very
indifferent account. Mary, you will be quite sorry to hear how ill
they have been and are. Miss Heywood, if you will give me leave,
I will read Diana's letter aloud. I like to have my friends
acquainted with each other and I am afraid this is the only sort
of acquaintance I shall have the means of accomplishing between
you. And I can have no scruple on Diana's account; for her
letters show her exactly as she is, the most active, friendly, warm-hearted
being in existence, and therefore must give a good impression.&cdq;
He read:
My dear Tom, we were all much grieved at Wour accident, and
if you had not described yourself asfallen into such very good
hands, I should have been with you at all hazards the day
after the receipt of your letter, though it found me suffering
under a more severe attack than usual of my old grievance,
spasmodic bile, and hardly able to crawlfrom my bed to the
sofa. But how were you treated? Send me more Particulars
in your next. If indeed a simple sprain, as you denominate
it, nothing would have been so judicious as friction, friction
by the hand alone, supposing it could be applied instantly.
Two years ago I happened to be calling on Mrs. Sheldon
when her coachman sprained hisfoot as he was cleaning the
carriage and could hardly limp into the house, but by the
immediate use offriction alone steadily perservered in (and
I rubbed his ankle with my own handfor six hours without
intermission) he was wellin three days.
Many thanks, my dear Tom, for the kindness with respect
to us, which had so large a share in bringing onyour accident.
But pray never run into perilagain in looking for an apothecary
on our account, for hadyou the most experienced man in
his line settled at Sanditon, it would be no recommendation
to us. We have entirely done with the whole medical tribe.
We have consulted physician after physician in vain, till we
are quite convinced that they can do nothing for us and that
we must trust to our own knowledge of our own wretched
constitutions for any relief. But if you think it advisable for
the interest of the place to get a medical man there, I will
undertake the commission with pleasure, and have no doubt
of succeeding. I could soon put the necessary irons in the
fire. As for getting to Sanditon myself, it is quite an impossibility.
I grieve to say that I dare not attempt it but my
feelings tell me too plainly that, in my present state, the sea
air would probably be the death of me. And neither of my
dear companions will leave me or I would promote their
going down to you for a fortnight. But in truth, I doubt
whether Susan&cdq;s nerves would be equal to the effort. She
has been suffering much from the headache, and six leeches
a day for ten days together relieved her so little that we
thought it right to change our measures,— and being convinced
on examination that mach of the evillay in her gum, I
persuaded her to attack the disorder there. She has
accordingly had three teeth drawn, and is decidedly better,
but her nerves are a good deal deranged. She can only
speak in a whisper andfainted away twice this morning on
poor Arthur's trying to suppress a cough. He, I am happy
to say, is tolerably well though more languid than I like
and I fear for his liver. I have heard nothing of Sidney since
your being together in town, but conclude his scheme to the
Isle of Wight has not taken place or we should have seen him
in his way.
Most sincerely do we wish you a good season at Sanditon,
and though we cannot contribute to your beau monde in
person, we are doing our utmost to sendyou company worth
having and think we may safely reckon on securing you two
large families. One a rich West Indianfrom Surrey, the other
a most respectable Girls Boarding School, or Academy, from
Camberwell. I will not tell you how many people I have
employed in the business — wheel within wheel. But success
more than repays. Yours most affectionately — etcetera.
&odq;Well,&cdq; said Mr. parker, as he finished. &odq;Though I dare sa
Sidney might find something extremely entertaining in this letter
and make us laugh for half an hour together, I declare I, by myself
can see nothing in it but what is either very pitiable or very creditable.
With all their sufferings, you perceive how much they ar
occupied in promoting the good of others! So anxious for
Sanditon! Two large families — one for Prospect House prob
ably, the other for Number two Denham place or the end house
of the Terrace, with extra beds at the hotel. I told you my sister
were excellent women, Miss Heywood.&cdq;
&odq;And I am sure they must be very extraordinary ones,&cdq; sai
Charlotte. &odq;I am astonished at the cheerful style of the letter,
considering the state in which both sisters appear to be. Thre
teeth drawn at once — frightful! Your sister Diana seems almost
as ill as possible, but those three teeth of your sister Susan s ar
more distressing than all the rest.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, they are so used to the operation — to every operation
and have such fortitude!&cdq;
&odq;Your sisters know what they are about, I dare say, but their
measures seem to touch on extremes. I feel that in any illness
I should be so anxious for professional advice, so very little
venturesome for myself or anybody I loved! But then, we have
been so healthy a family that I can be no judge of what the habit of
self-doctoring may do.&cdq;
&odq;Why to own the truth,&cdq; said Mrs. Parker, &odq;I do think the Miss
Parkers carry it too far sometimes. And so do you, my love, you
know. You often think they would be better if they would leave
themselves more alone — and especially Arthur. I know you think
it agreat pity they should give him such a turn for being ill.&cdq;
&odq;Well, well, my dear Mary, I grant you, it is unfortunate for
poor Arthur that at his time of life he should be encouraged to give
way to indisposition. It is bad that he should be fancying himself
too sickly for any profession and sit down at one and twenty, on
the interest of his own little fortune, without any idea of attempting
to improve it or of engaging in any occupation that may be of
use to himself or others. But let us talk of pleasanter things.
These two large families are just what we wanted. But here is
something at hand pleasanter still—Morgan with his &odq;Dinner on
table.&cdq;
THE PARTY were very soon moving after dinner. Mr. Parker
could not be satisfied without an early visit to the library and the
library subscription book; and Charlotte was glad to see as much
and as quickly as possible where all was new.
They were out in the very quietest part of a watering-place day,
when the important business of dinner or of sitting after dinner was
going on in almost every inhabited lodging. Here and there might
be seen a solitary elderly man, who was forced to move early and
walk for health; but in general, it was a thorough pause of company.
It was emptiness and tranquillity on the Terrace, the cliffs
and the sands. The shops were deserted. The straw hats and
pendant lace seemed left to their fate both within the house and
without, and Mrs. Whitby at the library was sitting in her inner
room, reading one of her own novels for want of employment.
The list of subscribers was but commonplace. The Lady
Denham, Miss Brereton, Mr. and Mrs. Parker, Sir Edward Denham
and Miss Denham, whose names might be said to lead off the
season, were followed by nothing better than: Mrs. Mathews, Miss
Mathews, Miss E. Mathews, Miss H. Mathews; Dr. and Mrs.
Brown; Mr. Richard pratt; Lieutenant Smith R.N.; Captain Little
— Limehouse; Mrs. Jane Fisher, Miss Fisher, Miss Scroggs;
Reverend Mr. Hanking; Mr. Beard — Solicitor, Grays Inn; Mrs.
Davis and Miss Merryweather.
Mr. parker could not but feel that the list was not only without
distinction but less numerous than he had hoped. It was but July,
however, and August and September were the months. And
besides, the promised large families from Surrey and Camberwell
were an ever-ready consolation.
Mrs. Whitby came forward without delay from her literary
recess, delighted to see Mr. Parker, whose manners recommended
him to everybody, and they were fully occupied in their various
civilities and communications; while Charlotte, having added her
name to the list as the first offering to the success of the season,
was busy in some immediate purchases for the further good of
everybody as soon as Miss Whitby could be hurried down from
her toilette, with all her glossy curls and smart trinkets, to wait
on her.
The library, of course, afforded everything: all the useless
things in the world that could not be done without; and among
so many pretty temptations, and with so much good will for Mr.
parker to encourage expenditure, Charlotte began to feel that
she must check herself — or rather she reflected that at two and
twenty there could be no excuse for her doing otherwise — and
that it would not do for her to be spending all her money the very
first evening. She took up a book; it happened to be a volume of
Camilla. She had not Camilla's youth, and had no intention of
having her distress; so she turned from the drawers of rings and
brooches, repressed further solicitation and paid for what she
had bought.
For her particular gratification, they were then to take a turn on
the cliff; but as they quitted the library they were met by two ladies
whose arrival made an alteration necessary: Lady Denham and
Miss Brereton. They had been to Trafalgar House and been
directed thence to the library; and though Lady Denham was a
great deal too active to regard the walk of a mile as anything
requiring rest, and talked of going home again directly, the
parkers knew that to be pressed into their house and obliged to
take her tea with them would suit her best; and therefore the stroll
on the cliff gave way to an immediate return home.
&odq;No, no,&cdq; said her Ladyship. &odq;I will not have you hurry your
tea on my account. I know you like your tea late. My early
hours are not to put my neighbours to inconvenience. No, no,
Miss Clara and I will get back to our own tea. We came out
with no other thought. We wanted just to see you and make
sure of your being really come — but we get back to our own
tea. &odq;
She went on however towards Trafalgar House and took possession
of the drawing room very quietly without seeming to hear a
word of Mrs. parker's orders to the servant, as they entered, to
bring tea directly. Charlotte was fully consoled for the loss of
her walk by finding herself in company with those whom the
conversation of the morning had given her a great curiosity to
see. She obsetved them well.
Lady Denham was of middle height, stout, upright and alert
in her motions, with a shrewd eye and self-satisfied air but not
an unagreeable countenance; and though her manner was rather
downright and abrupt, as of a person who valued herself on being
free-spoken, there was a good humour and cordiality about
her — a civility and readiness to be acquainted with Charlotte
herself and a heartiness of welcome towards her old friends —
which was inspiring the good will she seemed to feel.
And as for Miss Brereton, her appearance so completely
justified Mr. parker's praise that Charlotte thought she had never
beheld a more lovely or more interesting young woman. Elegantly
tall, regularly handsome, with great delicacy of complexion and
soft blue eyes, a sweetly modest and yet naturally graceful address,
Charlotte could see in her only the most perfect representation of
whatever heroine might be most beautiful and bewitching in all
the numerous volumes they had left behind on Mrs. Whitby's
shelves. perhaps it might be partly owing to her having just
issued from a circulating library but she could not separate the
idea of a complete heroine from Clara Brereton. Her situation
with Lady Denham so very much in favour of it! She seemed
placed with her on purpose to be ill-used. Such poverty and
dependence joined to such beauty and merit seemed to leave no
choice in the business.
These feelings were not the result of any spirit of romance in
Charlotte herself. No, she was a very sober-minded young lady,
sufficiently well-read in novels to supply her imagination with
amusement, but not at all unreasonably influenced by them;
and while she pleased herself the first five minutes with fancying
the persecution which ought to be the lot of the interesting Clara,
especially in the form of the most barbarous conduct on Lady
Denham's side, she found no reluctance to admit from subsequent
observation that they appeared to be on very comfortable terms.
She could see nothing worse in Lady Denham than the sort of old-fashioned
formality of always calling her Miss Clara; nor anything
objectionable in the degree of observance and attention which
Clara paid. On one side it seemed protecting kindness, on the
other grateful and affectionate respect.
The conversation turned entirely upon Sanditon, its present
number of visitants and the chances of a good season.
lt was evident that Lady Denham had more anxiety, more fears
of loss, than her coadjutor. She wanted to have the place fill
faster and seemed to have many harassing apprehensions of the
lodgings being in some instances underlet. Miss Diana parker's
two large families were not forgotten.
&odq;Very good, very good,&cdq; said her Ladyship. &odq;A West Indy
family and a school. That sounds well. That will bring money.&cdq;
&odq;No people spend more freely, I believe, than West Indians,&cdq;
observed Mr. parker.
&odq;Aye, so I have heard; and because they have full purses fancy
themselves equal, maybe, to your old country families. But then,
they who scatter their money so freely never think of whether they
may not be doing mischief by raising the price of things. And I
have heard that's very much the case with your West-injines.
And if they come among us to raise the price of our necessaries of
life, we shall not much thank them, Mr. Parker.&cdq;
&odq;My dear Madam, they can only raise the price of consumable
articles by such an extraordinary demand for them and such a
diffusion of money among us as must do us more good than harm.
Our butchers and bakers and traders in general cannot get rich
without bringing prosperity to us. If they do not gain, our rents
must be insecure; and in proportion to their profit must be ours
eventually in the increased value of our houses.&cdq;
&odq;Oh! well. But I should not like to have butcher's meat raised,
though. And I shall keep it down as long as I can. Aye, that
young lady smiles, I see. I dare say she thinks me an odd sort
of creature; but she will come to care about such matters herself
in time. Yes, yes, my dear, depend upon it, you will be thinking
of the price of butcher's meat in time, though you may not happen
to have quite such a servants' hall to feed as I have. And I do
believe those are best off that have fewest servants. I am not a
woman of parade as all the world knows, and if it was not for
what I owe to poor Mr. Hollis's memory, I should never keep up
Sanditon House as I do. (t is not for my own pleasure. Well,
Mr. Parker, and the other is a boarding school, a French boarding
school, is it? No harm in that. They'll stay their six weeks.
And out of such a number, who knows but some may be consumptive
and want asses' milk; and I have two milch asses at this
present time. But perhaps the little Misses may hurt the furniture.
I hope they will have a good sharp governess to look after
them.&cdq;
Poor Mr. parker got no more credit from Lady Denham than
he had from his sisters for the object which had taken him to
Willingden.
&odq;Lord! my dear sir,&cdq; she cried. &odq;How could you think of such
a thing? I am very sorry you met with your accident, but upon
my word, you deserved it. Going after a doctor! Why, what
should we do with a doctor here? It would be only encouraging
our servants and the poor to fancy themselves ill if there was a
doctor at hand. Oh! pray, let us have none of the tribe at
Sanditon. We go on very well as we are. There is the sea and
the downs and my milch asses. And I have told Mrs. Whitby
that if anybody inquires for a chamber-horse, they may be
supplied at a fair rate — poor Mr. Hollis's chamber-horse, as
good as new — and what can people want for more? Here
have I lived seventy good years in the world and never took
physic above twice — and never saw the face of a doctor in all
my life on my own account. And I verily believe if my poor
dear Sir Harry had never seen one neither, he would have been
alive now. Ten fees, one after another, did the man take who
sent him out of the world. I beseech you Mr. Parker, no
doctors here.&cdq; The tea things were brought in. &odq;Oh, my dear
Mrs. parker, you should not indeed — why would you do so?
I was just upon the point of wishing you good evening. But
since you are so very neighbourly, I believe Miss Clara and I
must stay.&cdq;
THE POPULARITY of the Parkers brought them some visitors the
very next morning; amongst them, Sir Edward Denham and his
sister who having been at Sanditon House, drove on to pay their
compliments; and the duty of letter writing being accomplished,
Charlotte was settled with Mrs. parker in the drawing room in
time to see them all.
The Denhams were the only ones to excite particular attention.
Charlotte was glad to complete her knowledge of the family by an
introduction to them; and found them, the better half at least (for
while single, the gentleman may sometimes be thought the better
half of the pair) not unworthy of notice.
Miss Denham was a fine young woman, but cold and reserved,
giving the idea of one who felt her consequence with pride and her
poverty with discontent, and who was immediately gnawed by the
want of a handsomer equipage than the simple gig in which they
travelled, and which their groom was leading about still in her
sight.
Sir Edward was much her superior in air and manner — certainly
handsome, but yet more to be remarked for his very good
address and wish of paying attention and giving pleasure. He
came into the room remarkably well, talked much — and very
much to Charlotte, by whom he chanced to be placed — and she
soon perceived that he had a fine countenance, a most pleasing
gentleness of voice and a great deal of conversation. She liked
him. Sober-minded as she was, she thought him agreeable and
did not quarrel with the suspicion of his finding her equally so,
which would arise from his evidently disregarding his sister's
motion to go, and persisting in his station and his discourse.
I make no apologies for my heroine's vanity. If there are
young ladies in the world at her time of life more dull of fancy
and more careless of pleasing, I know them not and never wish to
know them.
At last, from the low French windows of the drawing room
which commanded the road and all the paths across the down,
Charlotte and Sir Edward as they sat could not but observe Lady
Denham and Miss Brereton walking by; and there was instantly
a slight change in Sir Edward's countenance — with an anxious
glance after them as they proceeded — followed by an early proposal
to his sister, not merely for moving, but for walking on
together to the Terrace, which altogether gave a hasty turn to
Charlotte's fancy, cured her of her half-hour's fever, and placed
her in a more capable state of judging, when Sir Edward was gone,
of how agreeable he had actually been. &odq;perhaps there was a
good deal in his air and address; and his title did him no harm.&cdq;
She was very soon in his company again. The first object of
the Parkers, when their house was cleared of morning visitors, was
to get out themselves. The Terrace was the attraction to all.
Everybody who walked must begin with the Terrace; and there,
seated on one of the two green benches by the gravel walk, they
found the united Denham party; but though united in the gross,
very distinctly divided again: the two superior ladies being at one
end of the bench, and Sir Edward and Miss Brereton at the
other.
Charlotte s first glance told her that Sir Edward's air was that of
a lover. There could be no doubt of his devotion to Clara. How
Clara received it was less obvious, but she was inclined to think
not very favourably; for though sitting thus apart with him (which
probably she might not have been able to preveno her air was
calm and grave.
That the young lady at the other end of the bench was doing
penance was indubitable. The difference in Miss Denham's
countenance, the change from Miss Denham sitting in cold
grandeur in Mrs. parker's drawing room, to be kept from silence
by the efforts of others, to Miss Denham at Lady Denham's
elbow, listening and talking with smiling attention or solicitous
eagerness, was very striking — and very amusing or very melancholy,
just as satire or morality might prevail. Miss Denham's
character was pretty well decided with Charlotte.
Sir Edward's required longer observation. He surprised
her by quitting Clara immediately on their all joining and agreeing
to walk, and by addressing his attentions entirely to herself.
Stationing himself close by her, he seemed to mean to detach her
as much as possible from the rest of the party and to give her the
whole of his conversation. He began, in a tone of great taste and
feeling, to talk of the sea and the sea shore; and ran with energy
through all the usual phrases employed in praise of their sublimity
and descriptive of the undescribable emotions they excite in the
mind of sensibility. The terrific grandeur of the ocean in a storm,
its glass surface in a calm, its gulls and its samphire and the deep
fathoms of its abysses, its quick vicissitudes, its direful deceptions,
its mariners tempting it in sunshine and overwhelmed by the
sudden tempest — all were eagerly and fluently touched; rather
commonplace perhaps, but doing very well from the lips of a
handsome Sir Edward, and she could not but think him a man of
feeling, till he began to stagger her by the number of his quotations
and the bewilderment of some of his sentences.
&odq;Do you remember,&cdq; said he, &odq;Scott's beautiful lines on the
sea? Oh! what a description they convey! They are never out of
my thoughts when I walk here. That man who can read them
unmoved must have the nerves of an assassin! Heaven defend
me from meeting such a man unarmed.&cdq;
&odq;What description do you mean?&cdq; said Charlotte. &odq;I remember
none at this moment, of the sea, in either of Scott s poems.
&odq;Do you not indeed? Nor can I exactly recall the beginning at
this moment. But — you cannot have forgotten his description
of woman —
Oh. Woman in our hours of ease —
Delicious! Delicious! Had he written nothing more, he would
have been immortal. And then again, that unequalled, unrivalled
address to parental affection —
Some feelings are to mortals given
With less of earth in them than heaven — etcetera.
But while we are on the subject of poetry, what think you, Miss
Heywood, of Burns's lines to his Mary? Oh! there is pathos to
madden one! If ever there was a man who felt, it was Burns.
Montgomery has all the fire of poetry, Wordsworth has the true
soul of it, Campbell in his pleasures of hope has touched the
extreme of our sensations —
Like angels' visits, few and far between.
Can you conceive anything more subduing, more melting, more
fraught with the deep sublime than that line? But Burns —I
confess my sense of his pre-eminence, Miss Heywood. If Scott
has a fault, it is the want of passion. Tender, elegant, descriptive
— but tame. The man who cannot do justice to the attributes of
woman is my contempt. Sometimes indeed a flash of feeling
seems to irradiate him, as in the lines we were speaking of —
Oh. Woman in our hours of ease —
But Burns is always on fire. His soul was the altar in which
lovely woman sat enshrined, his spirit truly breathed the immortal
incense which is her due.&cdq;
&odq;I have read several of Burns's poems with great delight,&cdq; said
Charlotte as soon as she had time to speak. &odq;But I am not poetic
enough to separate a man's poetry entirely from his character;
and poor Burns's known irregularities greatly interrupt my
enjoyment of his lines. I have difficulty in depending on the
truth of his feelings as a lover. I have not faith in the sincerity
of the affections of a man of his description. He felt and he
wrote and he forgot.&cdq;
&odq;Oh! no, no,&cdq; exclaimed Sir Edward in an ecstasy. &odq;He was all
ardour and truth! His genius and his susceptibilities might lead
him into some aberrations — but who is perfect? It were hyper-criticism,
it were pseudo-philosophy to expect from the soul of
high-toned genius the grovellings of a common mind. The
coruscations of talent, elicited by impassioned feeling in the
breast of man, are perhaps incompatible with some of the prosaic
decencies of life; nor can you, loveliest Miss Heywood,&cdq; speaking
with an air of deep sentiment, &odq;nor can any woman be a fair judge
of what a man may be propelled to say, write or do by the
sovereign impulses of illimitable ardour.&cdq;
This was very fine — but if Charlotte understood it at all, not
very moral; and being moreover by no means pleased with his
extraordinary style of compliment, she gravely answered,
&odq;I really know nothing of the matter. This is a charming day.
The wind, I fancy, must be southerly.&cdq;
&odq;Happy, happy wind, to engage Miss Heywood's thoughts!&cdq;
She began to think him downright silly. His choosing to walk
with her, she had learnt to understand. It was done to pique
Miss Brereton. She had read it, in an anxious glance or two on
his side; but why he should talk so much nonsense, unless he
could do no better, was unintelligible. He seemed very sentimental,
very full of some feeling or other, and very much addicted to
all the newest-fashioned hard words, had not a very clear brain,
she presumed, and talked a good deal by rote. The future might
explain him further.
But when there was a proposition for going into the library, she
felt that she had had quite enough of Sir Edward for one morning
and very gladly accepted Lady Denham's invitation of remaining
on the Terrace with her. The others all left them, Sir Edward
with looks of very gallant despair in tearing himself away, and
they united their agreeableness; that is, Lady Denham, like a true
great lady, talked and talked only of her own concerns, and
Charlotte listened, amused in considering the contrast between
her two companions. Certainly there was no strain of doubtful
sentiment nor any phrase of difficult interpretation in Lady
Denham's discourse. Taking hold of Charlotte's arm with the
ease of one who felt that any notice from her was an honour, and
communicative from the influence of the same conscious importance
or a natural love of talking, she immediately said in a tone
of great satisfaction and with a look of arch sagacity,
&odq;Miss Esther wants me to invite her and her brother to spend a
week with me at Sanditon House, as I did last summer. But I
shan't. She has been trying to get round me every way with her
praise of this and her praise of that; but I saw what she was about.
I saw through it all. I am not very easily taken in, my dear.&cdq;
Charlotte could think of nothing more harmless to be said than
the simple enquiry of —
&odq;Sir Edward and Miss Denham?&cdq;
&odq;Yes, my dear. My young folks, as I call them sometimes, for
I take them very much by the hand. I had them with me last
summer, about this time, for a week; from Monday to Monday;
and very delighted and thankful they were. For they are very good
young people, my dear. I would not have you think that I only
notice them for poor dear Sir Harry's sake. No, no; they are very
deserving themselves or, trust me, they would not be so much in
my company. I am not the woman to help anybody blindfold.
I always take care to know what I am about and who I have to
deal with before I stir a finger. I do not think I was ever over-reached
in my life. And that is a good deal for a woman to say
that has been married twice. Poor dear Sir Harry, between
ourselves, thought at first to have got more. But, with a bit of
a sigh, he is gone, and we must not find fault with the dead.
Nobody could live happier together than us — and he was a very
honourable man, quite the gentleman of ancient family. And when
he died, I gave Sir Edward his gold watch.&cdq;
She said this with a look at her companion which implied its
right to produce a great impression; and seeing no rapturous
astonishment in Charlotte s countenance, added quickly,
&odq;He did not bequeath it to his nephew, my dear. It was no
bequest. It was not in the will. He only told me, and that but
once, that he should wish his nephew to have his watch; but it need
not have been binding if I had not chose it.&cdq;
&odq;Very kind indeed! Very handsome!&cdq; said Charlotte, absolutely
forced to affect admiration.
&odq;Yes, my dear, and it is not the only kind thing I have done by
him. I have been a very liberal friend to Sir Edward. And poor
young man, he needs it bad enough. For though I am only the
dowager, my dear, and he is the heir, things do not stand between
us in the way they commonly do between those two parties. Not
a shilling do I receive from the Denham estate. Sir Edward has
no payments to make me. He don't stand uppermost, believe
me. It is I that help him.
&odq;Indeed! He is a very fine young man, particularly elegant in
his address.&cdq; This was said chiefly for the sake of saying something,
but Charlotte directly saw that it was laying her open to
suspicion by Lady Denham's giving a shrewd glance at her and
replying,
&odq;Yes, yes, he is very well to look at. And it is to be hoped that
some lady of large fortune will think so, for Sir Edward must
marry for money. He and I often talk that matter over. A
handsome young fellow like him will go smirking and smiling about
and paying girls compliments, but he knows he must marry for
money. And Sir Edward is a very steady young man in the main
and has got very good notions.
&odq;Sir Edward Denham,&cdq; said Charlotte, &odq;with such personal
advantages may be almost stire of getting a woman of fortune,
if he chooses it.&cdq;
This glorious sentiment seemed quite to remove suspicion.
&odq;Aye my dear, that's very sensibly said,&cdq; cried Lady Denham.
&odq;And if we could but get a young heiress to Sanditon! But
heiresses are monstrous scarce! I do not think we have had an
heiress here — or even a co since Sanditon has been a public
place. Families come after families but, as far as I can learn, it
is not one in a hundred of them that have any real property, landed
or funded. An income perhaps, but no property. Clergymen
maybe, or lawyers from town, or half-pay officers, or widows with
only a jointure. And what good can such people do anybody?
Except just as they take our empty houses and, between ourselves,
I think they are great fools for not staying at home. Now if we
could get a young heiress to be sent here for her health — and if
she was ordered to drink asses' milk I could supply her — and, as
soon as she got well, have her fall in love with Sir Edward!&cdq;
&odq;That would be very fortunate indeed.&cdq;
&odq;And Miss Esther must marry somebody of fortune too. She
must get a rich husband. Ah, young ladies that have no money
are very much to be pitied! But,&cdq; after a short pause, &odq;if Miss
Esther thinks to talk me into inviting them to come and stay at
Sanditon Mouse, she will find herself mistaken. Matters are
altered with me since last summer, you know. I have Miss Clara
with me now which makes a great difference.&cdq;
She spoke this so seriously that Charlotte instantly saw in it the
evidence of real penetration and prepared for some fuller remarks;
but it was followed only by,
&odq;I have no fancy for having my house as full as an hotel. I
should not choose to have my two housemaids' time taken up all
the morning in dusting out bed rooms. They have Miss Clara's
room to put to rights as well as my own every day. If they had
hard places, they would want higher wages.&cdq;
For objections of this nature, Charlotte was not prepared. She
found it so impossible even to affect sympathy that she could
say nothing. Lady Denham soon added, with great glee,
&odq;And besides all this, my dear, am I to be filling my house to the
prejudice of Sanditon? If people want to be by the sea, why
don't they take lodgings? Here are a great many empty houses
— three on this very Terrace. No fewer than three lodging papers
staring me in the face at this very moment, Numbers three, four
and eight. Eight, the corner house, may be too large for them,
but either of the two others are nice little snug houses, very fit for
a young gentleman and his sister. And so, my dear, the next
time Miss Esther begins talking about the dampness of Denham
park and the good bathing always does her, I shall advise them to
come and take one of these lodgings for a fortnight. Don t you
think that will be very fair? Charity begins at home, you know.&cdq;
Charlotte's feelings were divided between amusement and
indignation, but indignation had the larger and the increasing
share. She kept her countenance and she kept a civil silence.
She could not carry her forbearance farther, but without attempting
to listen longer, and only conscious that Lady Denham was
still talking on in the same way, allowed her thoughts to form
themselves into such a meditation as this:
&odq;She is thoroughly mean. I had not expected anything so bad,
Mr. parker spoke too mildly of her. His judgement is evidently
not to be trusted. His own good nature misleads him. He is too
kind-hearted to see clearly. I must judge for myself. And their
very connection prejudices him. He has persuaded her to engage
in the same speculation, and because their object in that line is the
same, he fancies she feels like him in others. But she is very, very
mean. I can see no good in her. Poor Miss Brereton! And
she makes everybody mean about her. This poor Sir Edward and
his sister — how far nature meant them to be respectable I cannot
tell— but they are obliged to be mean in their servility to her.
And I am mean, too, in giving her my attention with the appearance
of coinciding with her. Thus it is, when rich people are sordid.&cdq;
The two ladies continued walking together till rejoined by the
others, who, as they issued from the library, were followed by a
young Whitby running off with five volumes under his arm to Sir
Edward's gig; and Sir Edward, approaching Charlotte, said,
&odq;You may perceive what has been our occupation. My sister
wanted my counsel in the selection of some books. We have many
leisure hours and read a great deal. I am no indiscriminate novel
reader. The mere trash of the common circulating library I hold
in the highest contempt. You will never hear me advocating those
puerile emanations which detail nothing but discordant principles
incapable of amalgamation, or those vapid tissues of ordinary
occurrences from which no useful deductions can be drawn. In
vain may we put them into a literary alembic; we distil nothing
which can add to science. You understand me, I am sure?&cdq;
&odq;I am not quite certain that I do. But if you will describe the
sort of novels which you do approve, I dare say it will give me a
clearer idea.&cdq;
Most willingly, fair questioner. The novels which I approve
are such as display human nature with grandeur; such as show her
in the sublimities of intense feeling; such as exhibit the progress of
strong passion from the first germ of incipient susceptibility to the
utmost energies of reason half-dethroned; where we see the strong
spark of woman's captivations elicit such fire in the soul of man
as leads him — though at the risk of some aberration from the
strict line of primitive obligations — to hazard all, dare all, achieve
all ttj obtain her. Such are the works which I peruse with delight
and, I hope I may say, with amelioration. They hold forth the
most splendid portraitures of high conceptions, unbounded views,
illimitable ardour, indomitable decision. And even when the event
is mainly anti-prosperous to the high-toned machinations of the
prime character — the potent, pervading hero of the story — it
leaves us full of generous emotions for him; our hearts are paralysed.
It would be pseudo-philosophy to assert that we do not feel
more enwrapped by the brilliancy of his career than by the
tranquil and morbid virtues of any opposing character. Our
approbation of the latter is but eleemosynary. These are the novels
which enlarge the primitive capabilities of the heart; and it cannot
impugn the sense or be any dereliction of the character of the most
anti-puerile man, to be conversant with them.
&odq;If I understand you aright,&cdq; said Charlotte, &odq;our taste in novels
is not at all the same.&cdq;
And here they were obliged to part, Miss Denham being much
too tired of them all to stay any longer.
The truth was that Sir Edward, whom circumstances had confined
very much to one spot, had read more sentimental novels
than agreed with him. His fancy had been early caught by all
the impassioned and most exceptionable parts of Richardson's.
And such authors as had since appeared to tread in Richardson's
steps (so far as man's determined pursuit of woman in defiance of
every opposition of feeling and convenience was concerned) had
since occupied the greater part of his literary hours, and formed
his character.
With a perversity of judgement which must be attributed to his
not having by nature a very strong head, the graces, the spirit, the
sagacity and the perserverance of the villain of the story out-weighed
all his absurdities and all his atrocities with Sir Edward.
With him such conduct was genius, fire and feeling. It interested
and inflamed him. And he was always more anxious for its
success, and mourned over its discomfitures with more tenderness,
than could ever have been contemplated by the authors. Though
he owed many of his ideas to this sort of reading, it would be
unjust to say that he read nothing else or that his language was
not formed on a more general knowledge of modern literature.
He read all the essays, letters, tours and criticisms of the day; and
with the same ill-luck which made him derive only false principles
from lessons of morality, and incentives to vice from the history
of its overthrow, he gathered only hard words and involved
st'ntences from the style of our most approved writers.
Sir Edward's great object in life was to be seductive. With
such personal advantages as he knew himself to possess, and such
talents as he did also give himself credit for, he regarded it as his
duty. He felt that he was formed to be a dangerous man, quite
in the line of the Lovelaces. The very name of Sir Edward, he
thought, carried some degree of fascination with it.
To be generally gallant and assiduous about the fair, to make
fine speeches to every pretty girl, was but the inferior part of the
character he had to play. Miss Heywood, or any other young
woman with any pretensions to beauty, he was entitled (according
to his own views of society) to approach with high compliment and
rhapsody on the slightest acquaintance.
But it was Clara alone on whom he had serious designs; it was
Clara whom he meant to seduce — her seduction was quite
determined on. Her situation in every way called for it. She was
his rival in Lady Denham's favour; she was young, lovely and
dependent. He had very early seen the necessity of the case, and
had now been long trying with cautious assiduity to make an
impression on her heart and to undermine her principles. Clara
saw through him and had not the least intention of being seduced;
but she bore with him patiently enough to confirm the sort of
attachment which her personal charms had raised. A greater
degree of discouragement indeed would not have affected Sir
Edward. He was armed against the highest pitch of disdain or
aversion. If she could not be won by affection, he must carry her
off. He knew his business.
Already had he had many musings on the subject. If he were
constrained so to act, he must naturally wish to strike out something
new, to exceed those who had gone before him; and he felt
a strong curiosity to ascertain whether the neighbourhood of
Timbuctu might not afford some solitary house adapted for
Clara's reception.
But the expense, alas! of measures in that masterly style was
ill-suited to his purse; and prudence obliged him to prefer the
quietest sort of ruin and disgrace for the object of his affections to
the more renowned.
ONE DAY, soon after Charlotte's arrival at Sanditon she had
the pleasure of seeing, just as she ascended from the sands to the
Terrace, a gentleman's carriage with post horses standing at the
door of the hotel, as very lately arrived and by the quantity of
luggage being taken off bringing, it might be hoped, some respectable
family determined on a long residence.
Delighted to have such good news for Mr. and Mrs. parker,
who had both gone home some time before, she proceeded to
Trafalgar House with as much alacrity as could remain after having
contended for the last two hours with a very fine wind blowing
directly on shore. But she had not reached the little lawn when
she saw a lady walking nimbly behind her at no great distance;
and convinced that it could be no acquaintance of her own, she
resolved to hurry on and get into the house if possible before her.
But the stranger's pace did not allow this to be accomplished.
Charlotte was on the steps and had rung but the door was not
open when the other crossed the lawn; and when the servant
appeared, they were just equally ready for entering the house.
The ease of the lady, her &odq;How do you do, Morgan?&cdq; and
Morgan's looks on seeing her were a moment's astonishment; but
another moment brought Mr. parker into the hall to welcome
the sister he had seen from the drawing room; and Charlotte
was soon introduced to Miss Diana parker.
There was a great deal of surprise but still more pleasure in
seeing her. Nothing could be kinder than her reception from
both husband and wife. How did she come? And with whom?
And they were so glad to find her equal to the journey! And
that she was to belong to them was taken as a matter of course.
Miss Diana parker was about four and thirty, of middling
height and slender; delicate looking rather than sickly; with an
agreeable face and a very animated eye; her manners resembling
her brother's in their ease and frankness, though with more
decision and less mildness in her tone.
She began an account of herself without delay. Thanking them
for their invitation but &cdq;that was quite out of the question for they
were all three come and meant to get into lodgings and make some
stay.&cdq;
&odq;All three come! What! Susan and Arthur! Susan able to
come too! This is better and better.&cdq;
&odq;Yes, we are actually all come. Cite unavoidable. Nothing
else to be done. You shall hear all about it. But my dear Mary,
send for the children — I long to see them.&cdq;
&odq;And how has Susan borne the journey? And how is Arthur?
And why do we not see him here with you?&cdq;
&odq;Susan has borne it wonderfully. She had not a wink of sleep
either the night before we set out or last night at Chichester, and
as this is not so common with her as with me, I have had a
thousand fears for her. But she has kept up wonderfully — no
hysterics of consequence till we came within sight of poor old
Sanditon — and the attack was not very violent — nearly over by
the time we reached your hotel— so that we got her out of the
carriage extremely well with only Mr. Woodcock's assistance.
And when I left her she was directing the disposal of the luggage
and helping old Sam uncord the trunks. She desired her best love
with a thousand regrets at being so poor a creature that she could
not come with me. And as for poor Arthur, he would not have
been unwilling himself, but there is so much wind that I did not
think he could safely venture for I am sure there is lumbago
hanging about him; and so I helped him on with his great coat and
sent him off to the Terrace to take us lodgings. Miss Heywood
must have seen our carriage standing at the hotel. I knew Miss
Heywood the moment I saw her before me on the down. My dear
Tom, I am so glad to see you walk so well. Let me feel your
ankle. That's right; all right and clean. The play of your sinews
a very little affected, barely perceptible. Well, now for the
explanation of my being here. I told you in my letter of the two
considerable families I was hoping to secure for you, the West
Indians and the seminary.&cdq;
Here Mr. parker drew his chair still nearer to his sister and took
her hand again most affectionately as he answered,
&odq;Yes, yes, how active and how kind you have been!&cdq;
&odq;The West Indians,&cdq; she continued, &odq;whom I look upon as the
most desirable of the two, as the best of the good, prove to be a
Mrs. Griffiths and her family. I know them only through others.
You must have heard me mention Miss Capper, the particular
friend of my very particular friend Fanny Noyce. Now, Miss
Capper is extremely intimate with a Mrs. Darling, who is on terms
of constant correspondence with Mrs. Griffiths herself. Only a
short chain, you see, between us, and not a link wanting. Mrs.
Griffiths meant to go to the sea for her young people s benefit, had
fixed on the coast of Sussex but was undecided as to the where,
wanted something private, and wrote to ask the opinion of her
friend Mrs. Darling. Miss Capper happened to be staying with
Mrs. Darling when Mrs. Griffiths' letter arrived and was consulted
on the question. She wrote the same day to Fanny Noyce
and mentioned it to her; and Fanny, all alive for us, instantly
took up her pen and forwarded the circumstance to me — except
as to names, which have but lately transpired. There was but
one thing for me to do. I answered Fanny's letter by the same
post and pressed for the recommendation of Sanditon. Fanny
had feared your having no house large enough to receive such a
family. But I seem to be spinning out my story to an endless
length. You see how it was all managed. I had the pleasure of
hearing soon afterwards by the same simple link of connection
that Sanditon had been recommended by Mrs. Darling, and that
the West lndians were very much disposed to go thither. This was
the state of the case when I wrote to you. But two days ago —
yes, the day before yesterday — I heard again from Fanny
Noyce, saying that she had heard from Miss Capper, who by a
letter from Mrs. Darling understood that Mrs. Griffiths had
expressed herself in a letter to Mrs. Darling more doubtingly on
the subject of Sanditon. Am I clear? I would be anything
rather than not clear.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, perfectly, perfectly. Well?&cdq;
&odq;The reason of this hesitation was her having no connections
in the place, and no means of ascertaining that she should have
good accommodations on arriving there; and she was particularly
careful and scrupulous on all those matters more on account of a
certain Miss Lambe, a young lady — probably a niece — under
her care than on her own account or her daughters&cdq;. Miss Lambe
has an immense fortune — richer than all the rest — and very
delicate health. One sees clearly enough by all this the sort of
woman Mrs. Griffiths must be: as helpless and indolent as wealth
and a hot climate are apt to make us. But we are not born to
equal energy. What was to be done? I had a few moments'
indecision, whether to offer to write to you or to Mrs. Whitby to
secure them a house; but neither pleased me. I hate to employ
others when I am equal to act myself; and my conscience told
me that this was an occasion which called for me. Here was a
family of helpless invalids whom I might essentially serve. I
sounded Susan. The same thought had occurred to her. Arthur
made no difficulties. Our plan was arranged immediately, we
were off yesterday morning at six, left Chichester at the same
hour today — and here we are.&cdq;
&odq;Excellent! Excellent!&cdq; cried Mr. parker. &odq;Diana, you are
unequalled in serving your friends and doing good to all the
world. I know nobody like you. Mary, my love, is not she a
wonderful creature? Well, and now, what house do you design
to engage for them? What is the size of their family?&cdq;
&odq;I do not at all know,&cdq; replied his sister, &odq;have not the least idea,
never heard any particulars; but I am very sure that the largest
house at Sanditon cannot be too large. They are more likely to
want a second. I shall take only one, however, and that but for
a week certain. Miss Heywood, I astonish you. You hardly know
what to make of me. I see by your looks that you are not used
to such quick measures.&cdq;
The words &odq;unaccountable officiousness!&cdq; &odq;activity run mad!&cdq;
had just passed through Charlotte's mind, but a civil answer was
easy.
&odq;I dare say I do look surprised,&cdq; said she, &odq;because these are
very great exertions, and I know what invalids both you and your
sister are.
&odq;Invalids indeed. I trust there are not three people in England
who have so sad a right to that appellation! But my dear Miss
Heywood, we are sent into this world to be as extensively useful
as possible, and where some degree of strength of mind is given,
it is not a feeble body which will excuse us — or incline us to
excuse ourselves. The world is pretty much divided between the
weak of mind and the strong; between those who can act and those
who cannot; and it is the bounden duty of the capable to let no
opportunity of being useful escape them. My sister's complaints
and mine are happily not often of a nature to threaten existence
immediately. And as long as we can exert ourselves to be of use
to others, I am convinced that the body is the better for the refreshment
the mind receives in doing its duty. While I have been
travelling with this object in view, I have been perfectly well.&cdq;
The entrance of the children ended this little panegyric on her
own disposition; and after having noticed and caressed them all,
she prepared to go.
&odq;Cannot you dine with us? Is not it possible to prevail on you
to dine with us?&cdq; was then the cry. And that being absolutely
negatived, it was,
&odq;And when shall we see you again? And how can we be of use
to you?&cdq; And Mr. Parker warmly offered his assistance in taking
the house for Mrs. Griffiths.
&odq;I will come to you the moment I have dined,&cdq; said he, &odq;and we
will go about together.&cdq;
But this was immediately declined.
&odq;No, my dear Tom, upon no account in the world shall you stir
a step on any business of mine. Your ankle wants rest. I see by
the position of your foot that you have used it too much already.
No, I shall go about my house-taking directly. Our dinner is not
ordered till six; and by that time I hope to have completed it. It
is now only half past four. As to seeing me again today, I cannot
answer for it. The others will be at the hotel all the evening and
delighted to see you at any time; but as soon as I get back I shall
hear what Arthur has done about our own lodgings, and probably
the moment dinner is over shall be out again on business relative
to them, for we hope to get into some lodgings or other and be
settled after breakfast tomorrow. I have not much confidence in
poor Arthur's skill for lodging-taking, but he seemed to like the
commission.&cdq;
&odq;I think you are doing too much,&cdq; said Mr. Parker. &odq;You will
knock yourself up. You should not move again after dinner.&cdq;
&odq;No, indeed you should not, cried his wife, &odq;for dinner is such
a mere name with you all that it can do you no good. I know what
your appetites are.&cdq;
&odq;My appetite is very much mended, I assure you, lately. I
have been taking some bitters of my own decocting, which have
done wonders. Susan never eats, I grant you; and just at present
I shall want nothing. I never eat for about a week after a journey.
But as for Arthur, he is only too much disposed for food. We
are often obliged to check him.&cdq;
&odq;But you have not told me anything of the other family coming
to Sanditon,&cdq; said Mr. Parker as he walked with her to the door
of the house. &odq;The Camberwell Seminary. Have we a good
chance of them?;&cdq
&odq;Oh, certain. Quite certain. I had forgotten them for the
moment. But I had a letter three days ago from my friend Mrs.
Charles Dupuis which assured me of Camberwell. Camberwell
will be here to a certainty, and very soon. That good woman —
I do not know her name — not being so wealthy and independent
as Mrs. Griffiths, can travel and choose for herself. I will tell
you how I got at her. Mrs. Charles Dupuis lives almost next
door to a lady, who has a relation lately settled at Clapham, who
actually attends the seminary and gives lessons on eloquence and
belles lettres to some of the girls. I got this man a hare from one of
Sidney's friends; and he recommended Sanditon. Without my
appearing however— Mrs. Charles Dupuis managed it all.&cdq;
IT WAS NOT A WEEK since Miss Diana parker had been told by
her feelings that the sea air would probably, in her present state,
be the death of her; and now she was at Sanditon, intending to
make some stay and without appearing to have the slightest recollection
of having written or felt any such thing.
It was impossible for Charlotte not to suspect a good deal of
fancy in such an extraordinary state of health. Disorders and
recoveries so very much out of the common way seemed more
like the amusement of eager minds in want of employment than of
actual afflictions and relief. The parkers were no doubt a family
of imagination and quick feelings, and while the eldest brother
found vent for his superfluity of sensation as a projector, the
sisters were perhaps driven to dissipate theirs in the invention of
odd complaints. The whole of their mental vivacity was evidently
not so employed; part was laid out in a zeal for being useful. It
would seem that they must either be very busy for the good of
others or else extremely ill themselves.
Some natural delicacy of constitution, in fact, with an unfortunate
turn for medicine, especially quack medicine, had given
them an early tendency at various times to various disorders;
the rest of their sufferings was from fancy, the love of distinction
and the love of the wonderful. They had charitable hearts and
many amiable feelings; but a spirit of restless activity and the
glory of doing more than anybody else had their share in every
exertion of benevolence; and there was vanity in all they did, as
well as in all they endured.
Mr. and Mrs. Parker spent a great part of the evening at the
hotel; but Charlotte had only two or three views of Miss Diana
posting over the down after a house for this lady whom she had
never seen and who had never employed her. She was not made
acquainted with the others till the following day when, being
removed into lodgings and all the party continuing quite well,
their brother and sister and herself were entreated to drink tea with
them.
They were in one of the Terrace houses; and she found them
arranged for the evening in a small neat drawing room with a
beautiful view of the sea if they had chosen it; but though it had
been a very fair English summer day, not only was there no open
window, but the sofa and the table and the establishment in
general was all at the other end of the room by a brisk fire.
Miss Parker, whom, remembering the three teeth drawn in one
day, Charlotte approached with a peculiar degree of respectful
compassion, was not very unlike her sister in person or manner,
though more thin and worn by illness and medicine, more relaxed
in air and more subdued in voice. She talked, however, the whole
evening as incessantly as Diana; and excepting that she sat with
salts in her hand, took drops two or three times from one out of
several phials already at home on the mantelpiece and made a great
many odd faces and contortions, Charlotte could perceive no
symptoms of illness which she, in the boldness of her own good
health, would not have undertaken to cure by putting out the fire,
opening the window and disposing of the drops and the salts by
means of one or the other.
She had had considerable curiosity to see Mr. Arthur Parker;
and having fancied him a very puny, delicate-looking young man,
materially the smallest of a not very robust family, was astonished
to find him quite as tall as his brother and a great deal stouter,
broad made and lusty, and with no other look of an invalid than
a sodden complexion.
Diana was evidently the chief of the family — principal mover
and actor. She had been on her feet the whole morning, on Mrs.
Griffiths' business or their own, and was still the most alert of the
three. Susan had only superintended their final removal from the
hotel, bringing two heavy boxes herself, and Arthur had found the
air so cold that he had merely walked from one house to the other
as nimbly as he could, and boasted much of sitting by the fire till
he had cooked up a very good one.
Diana, whose exercise had been too domestic to admit of calculation
but who, by her own account, had not once sat down during
the space of seven hours, confessed herself a little tired. She had
been too successful, however, for much fatigue; for not only had
she — by walking and talking down a thousand difficulties — at
last secured a proper house at eight guineas per week for Mrs.
Griffiths; she had also opened so many treaties with cooks,
housemaids, washerwomen and bathing women that Mrs.
Griffiths would have little more to do on her arrival than to wave
her hand and collect them around her for choice. Her concluding
effort in the cause had been a few polite lines of information to
Mrs. Griffiths herself, time not allowing for the circuitous train
of intelligence which had been hitherto kept up; and she was
now regaling in the delight of opening the first trenches of an
acquaintance with such a powerful discharge of unexpected
obligation.
Mr. and Mrs. Parker and Charlotte had seen two post chaises
crossing the down to the hotel as they were setting off, a joyful
sight and full of speculation. The Miss parkers and Arthur had
also seen something; they could distinguish from their window that
there was an arrival at the hotel, but not its amount. Their visitors
answered for two hack chaises. Could it be the Camberwell
Seminary? No, no. Had there been a third carriage, perhaps
it might; but it was very generally agreed that two hack chaises
could never contain a seminary. Mr. parker was confident of
another new family.
When they were all finally seated, after some removals to look
at the sea and the hotel, Charlotte's place was by Arthur, who was
sitting next to the fire with a degree of enjoyment which gave a
good deal of merit to his civility in wishing her to take his chair.
There was nothing dubious in her manner of declining it and he
sat down again with much satisfaction. She drew back her chair
to have all the advantage of his person as a screen and was very
thankful for every inch of back and shoulders beyond her preconceived
idea. Arthur was heavy in eye as well as figure but by no means
indisposed to talk; and while the other four were chiefly engaged
together, he evidently felt it no penance to have a fine young
woman next to him, requiring in common politeness some
attention; as his brother, who felt the decided want of some motive
for action, some powerful object of animation for him, observed
with considerable pleasure. Such was the influence of youth and
bloom that he began even to make a sort of apology for having a
fire.
&odq;We should not have had one at home,&cdq; said he, &odq;but the sea air
is always damp. I am not afraid of anything so much as damp.&cdq;
&odq;I am so fortunate,&cdq; said Charlotte, &odq;as never to know whether
the air is damp or dry. It has always some property that is
wholesome and invigorating to me.&cdq;
&odq;I like the air too, as well as anybody can,&cdq; replied Arthur. &odq;I
am very fond of standing at an open window when there is no
wind. But, unluckily, a damp air does not like me. It gives me
the rheumatism. You are not rheumatic, I suppose?&cdq;
&odq;Not at all.&cdq;
&odq;That's a great blessing. But perhaps you are nervous?&cdq;
&odq;No, I believe not. I have no idea that I am.'
&odq;I am very nervous. To say the truth, nerves are the worst
part of my complaints in my opinion. My sisters think me bilious,
but I doubt it.&cdq;
&odq;You are quite in the right to doubt it as long as you possibly
can, I am sure.&cdq;
&odq;If I were bilious,&cdq; he continued, &odq;you know, wine would
disagree with me, but it always does me good. The more wine
I drink — in moderation — the better I am. I am always best
of an evening. If you had seen me today before dinner, you
would have thought me a very poor creature.
Charlotte could believe it. She kept her countenance, however,
and said, &odq;As far as I can understand what nervous complaints are, I
have a great idea of the efficacy of air and exercise for them —
daily, regular exercise — and I should recommend rather more
of it to you than I suspect you are in the habit of taking.&cdq;
&odq;Oh, I am very fond of exercise myself,&cdq; he replied, &odq;and I mean
to walk a great deal while I am here, if the weather is temperate.
I shall be out every morning before breakfast and take several
turns upon the Terrace, and you will often see me at Trafalgar
House.&cdq;
&odq;But you do not call a walk to Trafalgar House much exercise?&cdq;
Not as to mere distance, but the hill is so steep! Walking up
that hill, in the middle of the day, would throw me into such a
perspiration! You would see me all in a bath by the time I got
there! I am very subject to perspiration, and there cannot be a
surer sign of nervousness.&cdq;
They were now advancing so deep in physics that Charlotte
viewed the entrance of the servant with the tea things as a very
fortunate interruption. It produced a great and immediate
change. The young man's attentions were instantly lost. He
took his own cocoa from the tray, which seemed provided with
almost as many teapots as there were persons in company —
Miss parker drinking one sort of herb tea and Miss Diana another
— and turning completely to the fire, sat coddling and cooking
it to his own satisfaction and toasting some slices of bread,
brought up ready-prepared in the toast rack; and till it was all
done, she heard nothing of his voice but the murmuring of a few
broken sentences of self-approbation and success. When his toils
were over, however, he moved back his chair into as gallant a line
as ever, and proved that he had not been working only for himself
by his earnest invitation to her to take both cocoa and toast.
She was already helped to tea — which surprised him, so totally
self-engrossed had he been.
&odq;l thought I should have been in time,&cdq; said he, &odq;but cocoa
rakes a great deal of boiling.&cdq;
&odq;l am much obliged to you,&cdq; replied Charlotte. &odq;But I prefer
tea.&cdq;
&odq;Then I will help myself,&cdq; said he. &odq;A large dish of rather
weak cocoa every evening agrees with me better than anything.&cdq;
lt struck her, however, as he poured out this rather weak cocoa,
that it came forth in a very fine, dark-coloured stream; and at the
same moment, his sisters both crying out, &odq;Oh, Arthur, you get
your cocoa stronger and stronger every evening,&cdq; with Arthur's
somewhat conscious reply of &cdq;Tis rather stronger than it should
be tonight,&cdq; convinced her that Arthur was by no means so
fond of being starved as they could desire or as he felt proper
himself.
He was certainly very happy to turn the conversation on dry
toast and hear no more of his sisters.
&odq;l hope you will eat some of this toast,&cdq; said he. &odq;I reckon
myself a very good toaster. I never burn my toasts, I never
put them too near the fire at first. And yet, you see, there is not
a corner but what is well browned. I hope you like dry toast.
&odq;With a reasonable quantity of butter spread over it, very
much,&cdq; said Charlotte, &odq;but not otherwise.
&odq;No more do I,&cdq; said he, exceedingly pleased. &odq;We think quite
alike there. So far from dry toast being wholesome, I think it a
very bad thing for the stomach. Without a little butter to soften
it, it hurts the coats of the stomach. I am sure it does. I will
have the pleasure of spreading some for you directly, and afterwards
I will spread some for myself. Very bad indeed for the
coats of the stomach — but there is no convincing some people.
It irritates and acts like a nutmeg grater.&cdq;
He could not get command of the butter, however, without a
struggle; his sisters accusing him of eating a great deal too much
and declaring he was not to be trusted, and he maintaining that
he only ate enough to secure the coats of his stomach, and besides,
he only wanted it now for Miss Heywood. Such a plea must
prevail. He got the butter and spread away for her with an
accuracy of judgement which at least delighted himself. But when
her toast was done and he took his own in hand, Charlotte could
hardly contain herself as she saw him watching his sisters while
he scrupulously scraped off almost as much butter as he put on,
and then seizing an odd moment for adding a great dab just
before it went into his mouth.
Certainly, Mr. Arthur Parker's enjoyments in invalidism were
very different from his sisters' — by no means so spiritualised.
A good deal of earthy dross hung about him. Charlotte could
not but suspect him of adopting that line of life principally for
the indulgence of an indolent temper, and to be determined on
having no disorders but such as called for warm rooms and good
nourishment. ln one particular, however, she soon found that he
had caught something from them.
&odq;What!&cdq; said he. &odq;Do you venture upon two dishes of strong
green tea in one evening? What nerves you must have! How
I envy you. Now, if I were to swallow only one such dish, what
do you think its effect would be upon me?&cdq;
&odq;Keep you awake perhaps all night,&cdq; replied Charlotte, meaning
to overthrow his attempts at surprise by the grandeur of her
own conceptions.
&odq;Oh, if that were all!&cdq; he exclaimed. &odq;No. It acts on me like
poison and would entirely take away the use of my right side
before I had swallowed it five minutes. It sounds almost
incredible, but it has happened to me so often that I cannot
doubt it. The use of my right side is entirely taken away for
several hours ! &odq;
&odq;It sounds rather odd to be sure,&cdq; answered Charlotte coolly,
&odq;but I dare say it would be proved to be the simplest thing in the
world by those who have studied right sides and green tea
scientifically and thoroughly understand all the possibilities of
their action on each other.&cdq;
Soon after tea, a letter was brought to Miss Diana Parker
from the hotel.
&odq;From Mrs. Charles Dupuis,&cdq; said she, &odq;some private hand,&cdq;
and having read a few lines, exclaimed aloud, &odq;Well, this is very
extraordinary! Very extraordinary indeed! That both should
have the same name. Two Mrs. Griffiths! This is a letter of
recommendation and introduction to me of the lady from Camberwell—
and her name happens to be Griffiths too.&cdq;
A few more lines, however, and the colour rushed into her
cheeks and with much perturbation, she added,
&odq;The oddest thing that ever was! A Miss Lambe too! A
young West Indian of large fortune. But it cannot be the same.
Impossible that it should be the same.&cdq;
She read the letter aloud for comfort. It was merely to introduce
the bearer, Mrs. Griffiths from Camberwell, and the three
young ladies under her care to Miss Diana Parker's notice. Mrs.
Griffiths, being a stranger at Sanditon, was anxious for a respectable
introduction; and Mrs. Charles Dupuis, therefore, at the
instance of the intermediate friend, provided her with this letter,
knowing that she could not do her dear Diana a greater kindness
than by giving her the means of being useful. &odq;Mrs. Griffiths'
chief solicitude would be for the accommodation and comfort
of one of the young ladies under her care, a Miss Lambe, a young
West lndian of large fortune in delicate health.&cdq;
It was very strange! Very remarkable! Very extraordinary!
But they were all agreed in determining it to be impossible that
there should not be two families; such a totally distinct set of
people as were concerned in the reports of each made that matter
quite certain. There must be two families. Impossible to be
otherwise.
&odq;Impossible&cdq; and &odq;Impossible&cdq; were repeated over and over again
with great fervour. An accidental resemblance of names and
circumstances, however striking at first, involved nothing really
incredible; and so it was settled.
Miss Diana herself derived an immediate advantage to counter
balance her perplexity. She must put her shawl over her
shoulders and be running about again. Tired as she was, she
must instantly repair to the hotel to investigate the truth and offer
her services.
IT WOULD NOT DO. Not all that the whole Parker race could
say among themselves could produce a happier catastrophe than
that the family from Surrey and the family from Camberwell were
one and the same. The rich West lndians and the young ladies'
seminary had all entered Sanditon in those two hack chaises. The
Mrs. Griffiths who, in her friend Mrs. Darling's hands, had
wavered as to coming and been unequal to the journey, was the
very same Mrs. Griffiths whose plans were at the same period
(under another representation) perfectly decided, and who was
without fears or difficulties.
AIl that had the appearance of incongruity in the reports of
the two might very fairly be placed to the account of the vanity,
the ignorance or the blunders of the many engaged in the cause
by the vigilance and caution of Miss Diana parker. Her intimate
friends must be officious like herself; and the subject had supplied
letters and extracts and messages enough to make everything
appear what it was not.
Miss Diana probably felt a little awkward on being first
obliged to admit her mistake. A long journey from Hampshire
taken for nothing, a brother disappointed, an expensive house
on her hands for a week must have been some of her immediate
reflections; and much worse than all the rest must have been the
sensation of being less clear-sighted and infallible than she had
believed herself. No part of it, however, seemed to trouble her
for long. There were so many to share in the shame and the
blame that probably, when she had divided out their proper
portions to Mrs. Darling, Miss Capper, Fanny Noyce, Mrs,
Charles Dupuis and Mrs. Charles Dupuis's neighbour, there
might be a mere trifle of reproach remaining for herself. At any
rate, she was seen all the following morning walking about after
lodgings with Mrs. Griffiths as alert as ever.
Mrs. Griffiths was a very well-behaved, genteel kind of woman,
who supported herself by receiving such great girls and young
ladies as wanted either masters for finishing their education or a
home for beginning their displays. She had several more under
her care than the three who were now come to Sanditon, but the
others all happened to be absent. Of these three, and indeed of
all, Miss Lambe was beyond comparison the most important and
precious, as she paid in proportion to her fortune. She was about
seventeen, half mulatto, chilly and tender, had a maid of her own,
was to have the best room in the lodgings, and was always of the
first consequence in every plan of Mrs. Griffiths.
The other girls, two Miss Beauforts, were just such young
ladies as may be met with in at least one family out of three
throughout the kingdom. They had tolerable complejtions,
showy figures, an upright decided carriage and an assured look;
they were very accomplished and very ignorant, their time being
divided between such pursuits as might attract admiration, and
those labours and expedients of dexterous ingenuity by which they
could dress in a style much beyond what they ought to have afforded;
they were some of the first in every change of fashion. And
the object of all was to captivate some man of much better fortune
than their own.
Mrs. Griffiths had preferred a small, retired place like Sanditon
on Miss Lambe's account; and the Miss Beauforts, though
naturally preferring anything to smallness and retirement, having
in the course of the spring been involved in the inevitable expense
of six new dresses each for a three-days visit, were constrained to
be satisfied with Sanditon also till their circumstances were
retrieved.
There, with the hire of a harp for one and the purchase of
some drawing paper for the other and all the finery they could
already command, they meant to be very economical, very
elegant and very secluded; with the hope, on Miss Beaufort's
side, of praise and celebrity from all who walked within the
sound of her instrument, and on Miss Letitia's, of curiosity and
rapture in all who came near her while she sketched; and to both,
the consolation of meaning to be the most stylish girls in the
place.
The particular introduction of Mrs. Griffiths to Miss Diana
Parker secured them immediately an acquaintance with the
Trafalgar House family and with the Denhams; and the Miss
Beauforts were soon satisfied with &odq;the circle in which they
moved in Sanditon,&cdq; to use a proper phrase, for everybody must
now &odq;move in a circle&cdq; — to the prevalence of which rotatory
motion is perhaps to be attributed the giddiness and false steps of
many.
Lady Denham had other motives for calling on Mrs. Griffiths
besides attention to the Parkers. In Miss Lambe, here was the
very young lady, sickly and rich, whom she had been asking for;
and she made the acquaintance for Sir Edward's sake and the
sake of her milch asses.
How it might answer with regard to the baronet remained to be
proved but, as to the animals, she soon found that all her calculations
of profit would be vain. Mrs. Griffiths would not allow
Miss Lambe to have the smallest sympton of a decline or any
complaint which asses' milk could possibly relieve. Miss
Lambe was &odq;under the constant care of an experienced physician,&cdq;
and his prescriptions must be their rule. And except in favour of
some tonic pills, which a cousin of her own had a property in,
Mrs. Griffiths never deviated from the strict medicinal page.
The corner house of the Terrace was the one in which Miss
Diana parker had the pleasure of settling her new friends; and
considering that it commanded in front the favourite lounge of
all the visitors at Sanditon, and on one side whatever might be
going on at the hotel, there could not have been a more
favourable spot for the seclusion of the Miss Beauforts. And
accordingly, long before they had suited themselves with an
instrument or with drawing paper, they had, by the frequenC
of their appearance at the low windows upstairs in order to close
the blinds, or open the blinds, to arrange a flower pot on the
balcony, or look at nothing through a telescope, attracted many
an eye upwards and made many a gazer gaze again.
A little novelty has a great effect in so small a place. The Miss
Beauforts, who would have been nothing at Brighton, could not
move here without notice. And even Mr. Arthur Parker, though
little disposed for supernumerary exertion, always quitted the
Terrace in his way to his brother's by this corner house for the sake
of a glimpse of the Miss Beauforts — though it was half a quarter
of a mile round about and added two steps to the ascent of the
hill.
CHARLOTTE had been ten days at Sanditon without seeing Sanditon
House, every attempt at calling on Lady Denham having
been defeated by meeting with her beforehand. But now it was
to be more resolutely undertaken, at a more early hour, that
nothing might be neglected of attention to Lady Denham or
amusement to Charlotte.
&odq;And if you should find a favourable opening, my love,&cdq; said
Mr. Parker, who did not mean to go with them, &odq;I think you had
better mention the poor Mullins's situation and sound her Ladyship
as to a subscription for them. I am not fond of charitable
subscriptions in a place of this kind — it is a sort of tax upon all
that come. Yet as their distress is very great and I almost
promised the poor woman yesterday to get something done for
her, I believe we must set a subscription on foot, and, therefore,
the sooner the better; and Lady Denham's name at the head of the
list will be a very necessary beginning. You will not dislike
speaking to her about it, Mary?&cdq;
'-I will do whatever you wish me,&cdq; replied his wife, &odq;but you
would do it so much better yourself. I shall not know what to
say.&cdq;
&odq;My dear Mary,&cdq; he cried. &odq;It is impossible you can be really
at a loss. Nothing can be more simple. You have only to state
the present afflicted situation of the family, their earnest application
to me, and my being willing to promote a little subscription
for their relief, provided it meet with her approbation.&cdq;
'-The easiest thing in the world,&cdq; cried Miss Diana Parker, who
happened to be calling on them at the moment. All said and
done in less time than you have been talking of it now. And
while you are on the subject of subscriptions, Mary, I will thank
you to mention a very melancholy case to Lady Denham which
has been represented to me in the most affecting terms. There is
a poor woman in Worcestershire, whom some friends of mine are
exceedingly interested about, and I have undertaken to collect
whatever I can for her. If you would mention the circumstance
to Lady Denham! Lady Denham can give, if she is properly
attacked. And I look upon her to be the sort of person who,
when once she is prevailed on to undraw her purse, would as
readily give ten guineas as five. And therefore, if you find her
in a giving mood, you might as well speak in favour of another
charity which I and a few more have very much at heart — the
establishment of a Charitable Repository at Burton on Trent.
And then there is the family of the poor man who was hung last
assizes at York, though we really have raised the sum we wanted
for putting them all out, yet if you can get a guinea from her on
their behalf, it may as well be done.&cdq;
&odq;My dear Diana!&cdq; exclaimed Mrs. parker, &odq;I could no more
mention these things to Lady Denham than I could fly.&cdq;
&odq;Where's the difficulty? I wish I could go with you myself.
But in five minutes I must be at Mrs. Griffiths to encourage Miss
Lambe in taking her first dip. She is so frightened, poor thing,
that I promised to come and keep up her spirits and go in the
machine with her if she wished it. And as soon as that is over, I
must hurry home, for Susan is to have leeches at one o clock—
which will be a three hours' business. Therefore I really have not
a moment to spare. Besides that, between ourselves, I ought to
be in bed myself at this present time for I am hardly able to stand;
and when the leeches have done, I dare say we shall both go to
our rooms for the rest of the day.&cdq;
&odq;-I am sorry to hear it, indeed. But if this is the case I hope
Arthur will come to us.&cdq;
&odq;-If Arthur takes my advice, he will go to bed too, for if he stays
up by himself he will certainly eat and drink more than he ought.
But you see, Mary, how impossible it is for me to go with you to
Lady Denham's.&cdq;
Upon second thoughts, Mary,&cdq; said her husband. &odq;I will
not trouble you to speak about the Mullinses. I will take an
opportunity of seeing Lady Denham myself. I know how little it
suits you to be pressing matters upon a mind at all unwilling.&cdq;
His application thus withdrawn, his sister could say no more
in support of hers, which was his object, as he felt all their impropriety
and all the certainty of their ill effect upon his own
better claim. Mrs. Parker was delighted at this release and set off
very happy with her friend and her little girl on this walk to
Sanditon House.
It was a close, misty morning and, when they reached the brow
of the hill, they could not for some time make out what sort of
carriage it was which they saw coming up. It appeared at
different moments to be everything from a gig to a phaeton, from
one horse to four; and just as they were concluding in favour of
a tandem, little Mary's young eyes distinguished the coachman
and she eagerly called out, &odq;It is Uncle Sidney, Mama, it is
indeed.&cdq;
And so it proved. Mr. Sidney parker, driving his servant in a
very neat carriage, was soon opposite to them, and they all
sropped for a few minutes. The manners of the Parkers were
always pleasant among themselves; and it was a very friendly
meeting between Sidney and his sister-in-law, who was most
kindly taking it for granted that he was on his way to Trafalgar
House.
This he declined, however. He was &odq;just come from Eastbourne
proposing to spend two or three days, as it might happen,
at Sanditon&cdq;; but the hotel must be his quarters. He was
expecting to be joined there by a friend or two.
The rest was common enquiries and remarks, with kind notice
of little Mary, and a very well-bred bow and proper address to
Miss Heywood on her being named to him. And they parted
to meet again within a few hours. Sidney parker was about
seven or eight and twenty, very good-looking, with a decided air
of ease and fashion and a lively countenance.
This adventure afforded agreeable discussion for some time.
Mrs. Parker entered into all her husband's joy on the occasion
and exulted in the credit which Sidney's arrival would give to the
place.
The road to Sanditon House was a broad, handsome, planted
approach between fields, leading at the end of a quarter of a mile
through second gates into grounds which, though not extensive,
had all the beauty and respectability which an abundance of very
fine timber could give. These entrance gates were so much in a
corner of the grounds or paddock, so near to one of its boundaries,
that an outside fence was at first almost pressing on the road, till
an angle here and a curve there threw them to a better distance.
The fence was a proper park paling in excellent condition, with
clusters of fine elms or rows of old thorns following its line almost
everywhere. Almost must be stipulated, for there were vacant
spaces, and through one of these, Charlotte, as soon as they
entered the enclosure, caught a glimpse over the pales of something
white and womanish in the field on the other side. It was
something which immediately brought Miss Brereton into her head;
and stepping to the pales, she saw indeed—and very decidedly, in
spite of the mist — Miss Brereton seated not far before her at the
foot of the bank which sloped down from the outside of the
paling and which a narrow path seemed to skirt along — Miss
Brereton seated, apparently very composedly, and Sir Edward
Denham by her side.
They were sitting so near each other and appeared so closely
engaged in gentle conversation that Charlotte instantly felt she had
nothing to do but to step back again and say not a word. privacy
was certainly their object. lt could not but strike her rather
unfavourably with regard to Clara; but hers was a situation
which must not be judged with severity. She was glad to perceive
that nothing had been discerned by Mrs. parker. If Charlotte had
not been considerably the taller of the two, Miss Brereton's white
ribbons might not have fallen within the ken of her more observant
eyes.
Among other points of moralising reflection which the sight of
this tete-a-tete produced, Charlotte could not but think of the
extreme difficulty which secret lovers must have in finding a
proper spot for their stolen interviews. Here perhaps they
had thought themselves so perfectly secure from observation
— the whole field open before them; a steep bank and pales
never crossed by the foot of man at their back, and a great
thickness of air to aid them as well! Yet here she had seen
them. They were really ill-used.
The house was large and handsome. Two servants appeared
to admit them and everything had a suitable air of property and
order, Lady Denham valued herself upon her liberal establishment
and had great enjoyment in the order and importance of her
style of living. They were shown into the usual sitting room, well
proportioned and well furnished, though it was furniture rather
originally good and extremely well kept than new or showy. And
as Lady Denham was not there, Charlotte had leisure to look
about her and to be told by Mrs. Parker that the whole-length
portrait of a stately gentleman which, placed over the mantelpiece,
caught the eye immediately, was the picture of Sir Henry
Denham; and that one among many miniatures in another part of
the room, little conspicuous, represented Mr. Hollis. poor
Mr. Hollis! lt was impossible not to feel him hardly used: to be
obliged to stand back in his own house and see the best place by
the fire constantly occupied by Sir H. D.