Sense And Sensibility And Sea Monsters (31 page)

Here Marianne, in an ecstasy of indignation, clapped her hands together, and cried, “Gracious God! Can this be possible!”

“Well may you wonder, Marianne,” replied her brother, “at the obstinacy which could resist such arguments, combined with such physical tortures, as these. Your exclamation is very natural.”

Marianne was going to retort, but she remembered her promises, and forbore.

“All this, however,” he continued, “was urged in vain. Edward said very little; but what he did say, was in the most determined manner. Nothing should prevail on him to give up his engagement.”

“Then he has acted like an honest man!” cried Mrs. Jennings with blunt sincerity, no longer able to be silent, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Dashwood, but if he had done otherwise, I should have thought him a rascal. I believe there is not a better kind of girl in the world than Lucy, nor one who more deserves a good husband.” This sentiment was especially offensive to Elinor, and its utterance for some reason caused a recurrence of the flashing five-pointed star and the attendant pain; she clutched her hands to her temples and willed it away.

John Dashwood replied, without any resentment, “Miss Lucy Steele is, I dare say, a very deserving young woman, but in the present case, you know, the connection must be impossible.” Here again he paused in his speech to shriek vividly and rush to the far side of the room in search of the source of some peripheral movement. Recovering himself, he continued: “We all wish her extremely happy; and Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct
throughout the whole, has been dignified and liberal. Edward has drawn his own lot, and I fear it will be a bad one.”

Marianne sighed out her similar apprehension; and Elinor’s heart wrung for the feelings of Edward, while braving his mother’s threats and collection of tiny biting fish, for a woman who could not reward him.

“Well, sir,” said Mrs. Jennings, “how did it end?”

“I am sorry to say, ma’am, in a most unhappy rupture. Edward is dismissed for ever from his mother’s notice. His feet were so afflicted that he is, for the time being, to wear shoes made of soft leather. He left her house yesterday, but where he is gone, or whether he is still in town, I do not know; for
we
of course can make no inquiry.”

“Poor young man! And what is to become of him?”

“What, indeed, ma’am! It is a melancholy consideration. Born to the prospect of such affluence! I cannot conceive a situation more deplorable. The interest of two thousand pounds—how can a man live on it? And when to that is added the recollection, that he might, but for his own folly, within three months have been in the receipt of two thousand, five hundred a year (for Miss Morton has thirty thousand pounds, the legacy of her father, who perished along with his most splendid creation) I cannot picture to myself a more wretched condition. We must all feel for him; and the more so, because it is totally out of our power to assist him.”

“Poor young man!” cried Mrs. Jennings, “I am sure he should be very welcome to bed and board at my house; and so I would tell him if I could see him.”

“If he would only have done as well by himself,” said John Dashwood, “as all his friends were disposed to do by him, he might now have been in his proper situation. But as it is, it must be out of anybody’s power to assist him. And there is one thing more preparing against him, which must be worse than all—his mother has determined, with a very natural kind of spirit, to settle
that
estate upon Robert immediately, which might have been Edward’s, on proper conditions.”

“Well!” said Mrs. Jennings, “that is
her
revenge. Everybody has a way of their own. But I don’t think mine would be, to make one son independent, because another had plagued me. Of course, all my sons were murdered and their corpses mutilated by a group of adventurers, so that may colour my feelings on that particular hypothetical.”

Shortly thereafter Mr. Dashwood departed, leaving the three ladies unanimous in their sentiments on the present occasion, as far at least as it regarded Mrs. Ferrars’s conduct, the Dashwoods’, and Edward’s. Marianne’s indignation burst forth as soon as he quitted the room; and as her vehemence made reserve impossible in Elinor, and unnecessary in Mrs. Jennings, they all joined in a very spirited critique upon the party.

M
RS. JENNINGS WAS VERY WARM
in her praise of Edward’s conduct, but only Elinor and Marianne understood its true merit. Elinor gloried in his integrity; and Marianne forgave all his offences in compassion for his punishment. But though confidence between them was, by this public discovery, restored to its proper state, it was not a subject on which either of them were fond of dwelling when alone.

On the third day succeeding their knowledge of the particulars, they decided to make an excursion to Kensington Undersea Gardens, among the most remarked upon of Sub-Marine Station Beta’s recently added pleasure-places. Mrs. Jennings and Elinor were of the number; but Marianne, who knew that the Willoughbys were again in-Station, and had a constant dread of meeting them, chose not to venture into so public a place. It was also rumoured that a coral sculpture in the shape of a giant octopus was among the wonders on display at Kensington, and the sentimental associations with such an artwork might prove, she imagined, too much to bear.

The Undersea Gardens had been created through a singular feat of hydraulic engineering, by which a single, non-load–bearing panel of the Dome’s reinforced glass sidewall had been opened, allowing visitors, for a considerable fee, to venture outside the glass wall of the Sub-Station. There, they could roam for several minutes directly on a patch of ocean’s floor, four acres square, that had been specially treated with an experimental chemical process to destroy all traces of marine life—but which allowed the awe-inspiring undersea fauna, such as no human could ever hope to lay eyes upon elsewhere, to thrive.

To venture into the Gardens, one was required first to don an elaborate sea-floor navigation costume, more extensive in its particulars but similar in basic outline to a diving suit. Aided by a courteous attendant, Elinor changed from her full-skirted dress to a seamless orange rubber suit. Then the large glass helmet was carefully lowered over her head. Next were added the supple gloves and the lead-lined galoshes which would ensure that her feet remained firmly upon the ocean’s floor during her ex-Domic perambulation; lastly came the heavy air tank, strapped to her back, that would keep a vital supply of oxygen flowing into Elinor’s helmet.

Once Mrs. Jennings was similarly attired, she and her friend were led by guides into a small ante-chamber, where the door of the Dome was sealed shut behind them with an audible
whoosh
; after a few moments they heard a loud whistle, and saw water begin to pour in to the chamber. After a moment, a second door opened on the far side of the chamber—the water had been let in, Elinor now understood, only to allow the atmospheric pressures to even out; now they were free to exit the ante-chamber and stroll the floor of the ocean itself.

All this extraordinary preparation, Elinor instantly concluded, was entirely justified by the miraculous sights that greeted her. Her eyes widened to see the endless varieties of multi-coloured undersea plants; the deep scarlet ceramiaceae, the wavy tendrils of the nereocystis barely swaying in the light undersea currents; her fingertips brushed against the thick stems of the acetabula.

As she tromped in her thick boots, through this marvelous under-sea universe, isolated in the confines of her suit, Elinor was lost to quiet reflection; all her inner torment and confusion, all the drama that had attended Edward’s engagement, it was all the merest triviality when compared to the vastness of what she could now comprehend through the glass front-piece of her navigation suit: acres of coral, staghorn, sea whips, delicate and marvelous in their infinite variety. She tromped about the ocean floor, marveling at every blue-green tendril, curving her hands along every stalk; and, most of all, enjoying the isolation of her private world within her navigation suit. She was alone; she saw nothing of the Willoughbys, nothing of Edward, and for some time nothing of anybody who could be interesting to her.

But at last she found herself with some surprise, accosted by Anne Steele, looking rather shy as she approached her within her own navigation suit and glass helmet. Communication of course was impossible, which was some relief for Elinor, who had nothing to say to Miss Steele and desired to hear nothing from her. But the latter personage, from within her own suit, waved vigorously to Elinor, expressing by a series of delighted facial expressions and fervent gesticulations her great satisfaction in meeting her, and, by pointing back to the antechamber, that she wished to return to where communication was possible, and converse.

Elinor was shaking her head and forming her lips into an exaggerated
No
, turning on her heel to hide in a bower of
alariae
, when Miss Steele’s expression changed entirely. Her eyes, which had been pleased and imploring, turned first distressed and then terrified; at that moment Elinor felt a sharp, painful sting directly at the base of her neck. The source was a sea scorpion, not less than five inches long; how it had survived the chemical process that had cleansed this patch of ocean and breached the walls of her rubber suit, were questions that must be answered later. At present her only concern was the crablike stinging horror that had crawled inside her helmet and attached one of its fearsome chelicerae directly into her neck. Terrified, and in the most excruciating pain, Elinor
spun in a furious circle, trying to dislodge the loathsome eurypterid, but to no avail; as she spun, the thing spun too, clinging to her throat, its armored body whipping in circles and smacking against the glass of the helmet.

In desperation, Elinor raised her hands in their protective gloves to pluck the creature off her, but her hands only slapped in vain against the reinforced helmet; her head was enclosed in glass, and the same glass barrier which allowed her continued respiration kept her hands out, and her attacker in. The sea scorpion dug its claws deeper into the flesh of her neck. The blood ran down Elinor’s chest, and she saw blood coat her like a bright red apron.

Mrs. Jennings had appeared beside her, and was mouthing to her, “OPEN THE SUIT! OPEN THE SUIT!” Elinor took a deep breath, drawing as much oxygen as possible into her lungs, and with a burst of pain-driven strength, pried open the face plate against the pressure of the water.

The icy temperature of the undersea depths hit her like a slap in the face. Without time to contemplate the bitter coldness now swiftly stealing over her body, or how far she had ventured from the antechamber that led back into the Sub-Station and precious oxygen, or to note the horrified expressions on the faces of both Mrs. Jennings and Miss Steele, Elinor grasped the sea scorpion with both hands, crushing its carapace between her protective gloves, tugging mightily to dislodge it. Still the thing clung, its claws firmly embedded in her neck. The harder she pulled, the worse the pain became, and with every passing second she felt her breath growing shorter. Still she pulled, and at last the devilish persistence of the eurypterid was overcome, and the claws came loose and the beast was torn free—taking with it a sizable chunk of flesh from her throat. Blood spurted forth in a wild gush, the sight of which—combined with the bitter cold of the water and her nearly extinguished air supply—caused her vision to swim black.

AT PRESENT HER ONLY CONCERN WAS THE CRABLIKE STINGING HORROR THAT HAD CRAWLED INSIDE HER HELMET AND ATTACHED ONE OF ITS FEARSOME CHELICERAE DIRECTLY INTO HER NECK.

* * *

Elinor awoke in a chair of the plushest otter skin, in the richly appointed Visitor Centre of the Kensington Undersea Gardens, her hands and feet submerged in small dishes of lukewarm water to ward off hypothermia. Anne Steele was on the other side of the room, brushing her hair to restore its former shape after an afternoon spent within the diving helmet.

Mrs. Jennings, seated beside her, immediately whispered to Elinor,

“Thank God! You have survived.”

And after inquiring with her customary enthusiasm of affection for the state of Elinor’s health, and reassuring her that her neck would certainly heal given time, Mrs. Jennings nodded her head towards Miss Steele and remarked, “Get it all out of her, my dear. You have suffered most grievously and nearly died; she is bound to be sympathetic and therefore talkative; she will tell you anything if you ask!”

In her uneasy state, it took a moment for Elinor to realise that Mrs. Jennings was desirous that she pry out of Miss Steele more details regarding Lucy’s engagement to Edward. It was lucky, however, for Mrs. Jennings’s curiosity and Elinor’s too, that she would tell anything
without
being asked; for nothing would otherwise have been learnt. Elinor rose and walked unsteadily across the room, gingerly touching her bandaged throat.

“I am so glad to meet you; and that you managed to tear that hideous thing from your neck, and that Mrs. Jennings and I were able to drag you back into the Sub-Station before you died,” said Miss Steele, taking her familiarly by the arm, “for I wanted to see you of all things in the world.” And then lowering her voice, “I suppose Mrs. Jennings has heard all about it. Is she angry?”