Elinor Seeks Solace in a Maze

Hello everyone!

This month’s theme is “Caught in a Maze”, and I decided to use it as inspiration and see what I could come up with for a vignette. Having no real ideas, I thought I’d finally do something I’ve been considering for months and use a prompt from this amusing little book that was in my Christmas stocking several years ago: Nancy Drew’s Guide to Life, by Jennifer Worick. I loved Nancy Drew books when I was much (much) younger. If it works out well, I’ll give it another go soon.

I have to point out one of them that just made me giggle.

An air of superiority can ruin a first impression. The Haunted Showboat

Sound like anyone we know? I immediately thought about Mr Darcy, but it could also apply to Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst. Anyone else?

The quote that caused an immediate “I know how I can use that!” reaction is this:

It is a bit gratuitous to quote passages from Shakespeare on a daily basis. The Clue of the Dancing Puppet

Quoting Shakespeare made me think about Marianne Dashwood, and so I present a short Sense & Sensibility vignette. This takes place the morning after Lucy Steele shared the happy news of her engagement to Edward Ferrars with Elinor. Please note that I have altered the timing, etc., to suit my purposes.

Feeling that she needs time alone, Elinor decides to take a walk and ends up in Sir John Middleton’s maze.

The morning dawned fair and bright with not a cloud in the sky. By all rights, it was the perfect summer day, and Elinor knew that her heart should be filled with delight. The countryside around the small cottage she shared with her mother and sisters was in full bloom. Yesterday, she had thought that she would take Margaret, the youngest of the Dashwoods, on a long walk of discovery once the first chores of the day were done. Perhaps even Marianne would join them, with or without Mr Willoughby. If Elinor had to guess, she would say with him; he seemed to spend more and more time with them, and Elinor was happy for her sister.

But after last night, she did not know if she could bear even Margaret’s company; being with Marianne and Mr Willoughby—who seemed so much in love—would be too much. Elinor stood at the window of the small, sparsely-furnished bedchamber she shared with Marianne and regarded the stillness of the day.

Why, oh why did Lucy Steele have to confide in me? It was a rhetorical question; Elinor could guess the young woman’s purpose in sharing her secret—that she was engaged to Edward Ferrars of all men—with her. Somehow, Lucy Steele must have learnt that Edward and Elinor had become friends, and she thought…

She thought what I hoped, Elinor thought. She pressed her eyes closed, her body swaying as a tree might in the wind. All my dreams of him returning my feelings, of him coming to me with an offer of marriage, regardless of how little his sister, nay his whole family, might like it—all of it is done. My hope for happiness, for something more than this existence—so far removed from what I used to know—shattered. Broken to tiny pieces and scattered across the sea.

The sounds of her family below stairs caused her to squeeze her eyelids as tightly as possible to force back the tears that wanted to form. There was no time for them, not unless she wanted to confide in her mother and sisters.

And that I cannot do. I made a promise to Lucy Steele—how I hate the sound of her name—and a promise is a promise. It would only injure my mother and Marianne and Margaret if I let them see how unhappy I am, especially when I cannot tell them why.

With that reminder, Elinor took several deep breaths, touched her hair to make sure it was properly pinned, donned her usual pleasant, industrious demeanour, and went to join them for breakfast.

*

By the time she had taken half a cup of tea, Elinor knew that she needed time alone that morning. Her usual habit of working around the house, ensuring Margaret applied herself to her studies, listening to her mother’s concerns, & cetera was too much for her present state of agitated sorrow. There would be time enough for all of it tomorrow.

“You are not yourself this morning, my dear,” Mrs Dashwood said. “I trust you are not ill.”

Elinor regarded her mother. The months since they had moved to Barton Cottage, and the time preceding it when they had shared Norland Park with Fanny, the wife of Elinor’s half-brother, had been very trying on Mrs Dashwood, and Elinor thought she looked noticeably older.

“I have a bit of headache this morning, I am afraid,” said Elinor. She offered her mother a small smile in an attempt to ease the look of alarm in her eyes. I cannot remember when I last claimed I had headache, Elinor reflected. I could hardly say that it was my heart, not my head—

Marianne said, “I am not surprised after that dreadful party at the Middletons yesterday.”

“Was it so disagreeable, my darling? Why?” Mrs Dashwood enquired.

In her usual dramatic fashion, Marianne rolled her eyes and groaned. “The Steele sisters, who are Mrs Jennings’s nieces or cousins or some such. It does not matter what the connexion is; they are odious. I saw that Miss Lucy Steele spoke to you for some time, Elinor. What did she say? I would wager your headache started then.”

Elinor managed a vague response, though she hardly knew what she said. As Marianne told their mother and younger sister about the Steele ladies and the evening, Elinor’s thoughts drifted.

Engaged to Edward for four years! I cannot believe it, and yet I must. Oh, Edward! She recalled his coming to Norland and the time they spent together. They had walked, ridden, talked, grown to know each other—

Grown to care for each other, or so I thought. With him there, my grief over Papa was not so severe, my fears for the future and frustrations with Fanny and-and everything just seemed more…manageable. Bearable.

It felt like he had helped her build up a dam behind which she stored everything that threatened her equanimity. Knowing he could never be hers, that he had promised himself to another—had always been promised to another when they knew each other—was like a stab to the heart. She could already feel the dam breaking and, for her mother and sisters, could not allow it to continue. Where would they be if she gave in to her emotions? She was the sensible one, the one who ensured they did not overspend their meagre income, who acted as housekeeper, governess to Margaret, companion to her mother, and to Marianne—oh, Marianne who showed so little sense when it came to Mr Willoughby—she must act as guardian. Elinor had every expectation that Mr Willoughby would offer for Marianne—his behaviour towards her practically demanded it—but until they were betrothed, Elinor was determined to do everything she could to stop her sister from acting imprudently.

Mrs Dashwood’s voice pulled Elinor back to the conversation. “Elinor, my dear, you must rest this morning. Return to your bed. Truly, you are pale and have not touched your breakfast.”

“I am well, Mama. I am,” she emphasised when Mrs Dashwood looked sceptical. As though to prove her words, Elinor nibbled a corner of her toast and took a swallow of tea. “I believe what I most need is fresh air. After breakfast, I shall go out. There are several things I intended to see to this morning, but they can wait until the afternoon or tomorrow.”

Mrs Dashwood not only agreed, she insisted that Elinor do whatever she thought necessary to restore her to full health and spirits. In her heart, Elinor knew the latter goal was unattainable; she would forever feel the loss of Edward and her dreams for the future.

Ones I ought not to have indulged in, not until there was something more than my wishes between us. I was foolish to let them take root in me, and I am now paying the price.

After breakfast, Elinor donned a light spencer and straw bonnet and left the cottage, confident that a few hours to herself would show her how to hide her sorrow from her family. How she wished she had not promised to keep Lucy Steele’s secret! Then at least she could have the comfort of sharing the loss of her dreams with Marianne or her mother.

But promise I did, and if I told either one of them, they would hate Edward, and he does not deserve that. He is not to blame because I was foolish, reckless enough to develop a tendre for him. Better to let them see that he does not care for me by his failure to visit.

She pushed aside thoughts of the gentleman and gave her attention to her surroundings and the movement of her feet as she lifted them and placed them down on the hard, dry ground. She reflected on the countless people who had walked the path before and the knowledge that countless others had suffered as she did this morning. There was an odd comfort in the thought. Although she liked to draw and paint and, like most ladies, chose the outdoors as her subject, the picturesque environs did not touch her at the moment. To be sure, it was pretty enough—the slopes green with grass and dotted with a multitude of colours from flowers, the sky a brilliant blue, the trees tall and strong. Elinor took in each aspect of the world around her and listed it as though in a catalogue.

An hour or more into her walk, Elinor took in deep lungfuls of the fresh air. The faint aroma of the sea under that of summer flowers was refreshing. The day was growing hot even though it was still early, and she removed her bonnet and used the brim to fan herself. Her footsteps led her to Sir John’s maze. He was very proud of it and had insisted on showing it to her and her sisters soon after their arrival in Devon. Margaret enjoyed running through it, getting ever more lost even though if she stopped for just a minute, she would be able to navigate it easily. The remembrance brought a small smile to Elinor’s face. It was good and proper that her little sister find pleasure in their new life. The maze was a good diversion, and today, Elinor especially appreciated the secrecy it offered, as well as the shade provided by the tall hedges. It felt much cooler than the surrounding area.

It is quiet, too. Oh, the stillness—how I appreciate it. If only she could take the tranquility of the maze, in which she felt secluded, swallow it and allow it to ease the ache in her heart. The pain was severe and almost reminded her of when her father died.

I am mourning, she realised. Mourning a future that cannot be, a love that cannot be requited. I did think he— But I was wrong. To prefer Lucy Steele? That-that— She stopped herself before she began to apply unpleasant epithets to the young woman or compare her qualities to Elinor’s own; what good would it do?

Despite telling herself that she should not, she revisited her memories of the happy days at Norland after Edward’s arrival. One last time, she promised herself. Then I will put them away in a box and store them in the corner of the attic in my mind and leave them to gather dust. Somehow, she would find a way to tolerate hearing her mother and sisters speak about him; she expected that such talk would fade away as he failed to come to them; it could not come too soon.

As she wandered in the maze, making her way ever deeper, she heard no one other than a few birds and squirrels. She stopped at a bench near the centre and sat. Her eyes drifted closed, and Elinor allowed herself the luxury of drooping against the back of the seat, her chin falling to her chest. She drifted off, still thinking about what could have been, had there been no Lucy Steele and Edward, dear Edward, been free to love her.

The sound of laughter awakened her, and her body jerked so violently that she silently cursed when her elbow hit the hard edge of the bench’s arm. When the laugh again filled the air around her, she knew who it was. Marianne’s voice saying, “Willoughby” was the final confirmation.

Mr Willoughby’s deep voice was the next Elinor heard. He said, “My love is as a fever, longing still for that which longer nurseth the disease, feeding on that which doth preserve the ill.”

Oh dear Lord, Elinor thought. He is quoting Shakespeare to her. He completed the sonnet, and she prayed that the lovers would move to another part of the maze. They clearly did not know she was nearby, and she had no intention of making her presence known. To hear them speak—through poetry—words of love to each other at such a time? Insupportable! Elinor feared her anguish would show on her countenance; she required an opportunity to slip out of the maze—she could take a route that would avoid Marianne and Mr Willoughby—and return to the cottage where she could go to her bedchamber and compose herself before facing her mother and Margaret.

Marianne’s clear, light voice was the next thing Elinor heard; she, too, quoted Shakespeare.

“Kind is my love today, tomorrow kind, still constant in a wondrous excellence.”

On she went, and no sooner had she finished then Mr Willoughby spoke; the couple traded sonnets and pieces from plays—“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate” battled with “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind,” and “Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant I saw you, did my heart fly at your service,” and on and on.

Elinor learnt to hate Shakespeare during that interlude. Oh, if only he had written less about love! Could anything be more injurious to the soul than to listen to Shakespeare’s poetry when one is sick at heart?

Worse was yet to come. After what felt like an hour, Marianne and Mr Willoughby either could recall no further sonnets or speeches to share or had grown tired of the game. Just as Elinor was certain they would move on, allowing her to discreetly exit the maze, she heard something else. Curiosity and a touch of alarm made her strain her ears; she even stood and stepped towards the hedge that separated her from her sister and the gentleman. She heard it again; it was like a faint moaning. With a start, Elinor’s spine straightened, and her eyes opened wide.

Are they—? I think they are kissing. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no!

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she looked around her small section of the maze. There was no getting away from the spot without disrupting the couple, and Elinor was certain she would die of mortification if they discovered that she had been nearby all along.

Well, she told herself, I might not do anything so romantic, but Marianne would. Worse, she would want to talk about it, and that I cannot abide.

She returned to the bench, carefully lowering herself to the seat, and covered her ears with her hands. They must be engaged. Marianne would never allow him such liberties if they were not. But why have they said nothing? Why has he not talked to my mother?

As alarmed as Elinor had been by her sister’s behaviour of late—riding with Mr Willoughby without a chaperone, devoting herself to him whenever they were in company to the point of being rude—this went above it all. She wondered what she had done that was so awful that her punishment was to be a silent witness to Marianne and Willoughby’s love the day after learning she had no hope of a future with Edward.

At last, a half an hour or more later, Elinor heard the sounds of their footsteps as they moved on. She waited an additional five or ten minutes before tentatively making her way out of the maze, always listening for the sound of another person, worried lest her presence be discovered. It was ridiculous; she had nothing to be embarrassed about—there was no shame in walking in the maze alone—but she knew her sister would only laugh at the suggestion that she had behaved inappropriately, and Elinor supposed she was taking on the feelings Marianne ought to have had.

It was with profound relief that she greeted her freedom from the hedges. After a quick survey of her surroundings, she quickly strode away from the maze and to Barton Cottage, wishing all the while that she could burn every volume of Shakespeare in their possession.

That’s it! I hope you liked my bit of fun. I enjoyed exploring Elinor a little bit.

© Lucy Marin 2021