Sigh No More, Ladies

(A poor Bit of Ivory - speculating how the ladies were faring whilst the men were drowning their difficulties at Boodles.)

~*~

Some men drink to drown their woes,
And some, to fisticuffs.
But one recourse only ladies know:
For them mere tears is drink enough.

~*~

"Softly, softly, oh so softly, softly lie sleeping."

The last strains of Marianne's sad voice echoed up the stairs, causing Elinor to pause in her descent and wonder, her fingers straying to the neatly folded handkerchief within her pocket. She sighed and bit her lip, willing not to think of him...to no avail. So sighing once more she withdrew her hand from her pocket and stepped into the parlour of Berkely-Street, just as Marianne began playing again - this time, Beethoven's Fifth.

Loudly.

"Marianne, dearest?" Elinor said, placing one slender hand on her sister's shoulder. Marianne played the last chord of the system - apparently unconcerned whether her fingers matched the notes on the page.

"Leave me," Marianne mumbled, her hands flying over the pianoforte, striking each successive rising phrase with greater ferocity.

"Might I listen a while?" pursued Elinor over the din.

"Well, I" chord, "can't" chord, "stop you." Chord.

Hesitating momentarily, Elinor put her other hand on Marianne's shoulder. Then, "Is it - is it Willoughby, dearest?"

Four distinct notes answered. There was nothing to do but wait out the first movement and pray that Marianne have the sense enough to play through the second, which would - hopefully - calm her spirits somewhat. The post-rider came in the middle of the musical tirade. His eyes bugged as a clanging battery escaped the ill-used pianoforte, and he hastily tipped his hat and rode away. Elinor wandered back into the room with several letters, one of which was addressed from an old friend in Bath, Anne Elliot.

My dear Elinor,
I pray you would forgive my recent silence - moreso since I have heard that you have lost your father and your home. My deepest condolences. I know well what such a loss must be. Shall I attempt to alleviate your discomfort through some poor anecdotes of this strange town?
Let me then relate the strangest man I have ever met - a Reverend, yet one who, at least in speech, reveres little. A man by the name of Tilney, who, when I visited the Rooms just last week - at the behest of my friend Miss Hamilton, despite my objections to the sport and the memories they evoke - kept me in such a humour that I could not dance for laughing! Would you believe, he inquired after my muslin? I must confess, he knew more of the material which made my dress than I ever would. He was, I confess, the most singular partner I have ever danced with - although he cannot compare to.... (A small tear blotted the name beneath.) But I shall not sigh over losses.
Well, at any rate, I need not fear dancing with Mr. Tilney again - just last evening, he sought out a newcomer to the town, a Miss Moreland - a pretty, sweet creature, although she keeps a strange company - and, if I can be said to be any judge of the heart, which may be not at all I fear, I should not doubt but that he shall seek her out in quite a different capacity than dancing, soon.
I wrack my brain, but there is little else to send: Bath is as ever. Last week I joined Miss Hamilton in Bristol, where she shopt for a new bonnet, while I marvelled at the ships. You may tell Margaret that they are indeed very fine vessels, smelling all of spices, like a gentleman's musk. Thursday sees me returned to Kellynch-Hall, and I confide I am as loathe to return as to stay where I am - Mr. Charles Musgrove, I believe, intends to make me an offer...and I fear I have not your sense yet to accept him. All my love to your mother and Marianne.
Your friend,
A. E.

Elinor sighed and folded the missive, glancing at her sister who's colour had softened with the strains of the second movement. With such inducement, Elinor essayed relating to Marianne the contents of the letter.

"Miss Elliot..." Marianne mused, slowing the tempo thoughtfully. Then, "Is she not the one who was engaged to that Captain fellow?"

She was.

"And you helped to persuade her against her heart!" Marianne cried, ceasing the symphony altogether. "Although I should have thought that you would champion any man in His Majesty's service," with narrowed eyes, and an abrupt return to the pianoforte - beginning inauspiciously with the militaristic third movement. Elinor could not answer. The music agitated her; she paced to the window, overlooking Berkley-street. No more had she pushed aside the heavy drapery than she perceived a familiar figure in the street below, and calling over clanging of the pianoforte, she said, "It's Miss Bennet!"

The music stopped immediately. "Lizzy!" Marianne cried, rushing to the window. "Oh, thank heavens! She has not written me since she went to Hunsford - with that odious Mr. Darcy. Why, do you know what he did to Mr. Wickham, Elinor? Have I told you?"

But Elinor was rushing down the corridor and out the door, where she met Miss Jane Bennet, who was quite as delighted to meet a familiar acquaintance in town as Elinor. As soon as they had got inside, and no more than removed her cape and seated, Marianne accosted her for information about Jane's sister's Lizzy.

"Does she do well? Has she left Hunsford yet? I hear that wretch Mr. Darcy has come. Horrid man! Does he still plague her? Some men can be so insipid when they attempt to court ladies. I am sure we ladies bear the strains of the heart much better. Why, merely look at Rosalind! But I cannot imagine staying with that Mr. Collins! I should never marry a clergyman, although you may think otherwise, Elinor - but you will find that Romeo was not a cleric. They are all of them such dreary sorts. I hardly think they'd know who Romeo was! But how is Lizzy?"

Jane shook her head, smiling sadly at Elinor whose face had gone very white. "I do not know, Marianne. She has not yet written to me, and I think I shall have to wait to hear how my sister fares. But...but you know that Romeo made a very pathetic end."

"Oh, tosh!" Marianne snapped.

"And as for clergymen, well, I cannot speak for myself, but I do think that it were better that a reverend behaved in a gentlemanlike manner - don't you Elinor? Indeed, I have just had a letter from my dear friend, Miss Price, and I assure you she thinks very highly of that profession."

"It is no profession at all!" Marianne said, standing. "No profession of life or of love! It professes nothing! Truly, and when they do, it is in common, prideful riddles, as my friend, Miss Woodhouse - who bears everything with even greater stoicness than you do, Elinor - would attest. Can you believe this horrid concoction, Miss Bennet...."

"Marianne!" Elinor whispered vehemently.

"My first displays the wealth and pomp of kings...!"

"Marianne!"

"Tush. ...Lords of the Earth! That one's particularly awful, don't you think?"

"Marianne," firmly. "Perhaps you might finish that charming piece you were working on?"

And so saying, she steered her sister back to the pianoforte where, rather than completing that which she had set out to play, Marianne picked up a rather dirgeful melody. Elinor and Jane's conversation lasted not much longer - the first could not confide, and the second did not wish to impose her own heartache. At last they parted with many well-wishes on either side, and several tears.

The tune issuing from the parlour was now unbearably sorrowful. And taking a deep breath, Elinor joined her sister, calling her name softly. "Marianne, dearest?"

At that sound, all restraint gave way, and Marianne burst into tears, throwing herself across the keys of the instrument with a terrible sound.

Elinor sighed, removed her beloved handkerchief and offered it to her sister. With a tender look at its initial, she choked back a tear of her own, and went morosely up the stairs.

The End