Mansfield Park, Jane Austen [i read book TXT] 📗

to be sitting round that table. However, you will have dinner enough on it for ten, I dare say.”

 

Mrs. Norris fetched breath, and went on again.

 

“The nonsense and folly of people’s stepping out of their rank and trying to appear above themselves, makes me think it right to give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company without any of us; and I do beseech and entreat you not to be putting yourself forward, and talking and giving your opinion as if you were one of your cousins—as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia.

That will never do, believe me. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last; and though Miss Crawford is in a manner at home at the Parsonage, you are not to be taking place of her. And as to coming away at night, you are to stay just as long as Edmund chuses.

Leave him to settle that.”

 

“Yes, ma’am, I should not think of anything else.”

 

“And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, for I never saw it more threatening for a wet evening in my life, you must manage as well as you can, and not be expecting the carriage to be sent for you. I certainly do not go home to-night, and, therefore, the carriage will not be out on my account; so you must make up your mind to what may happen, and take your things accordingly.”

 

Her niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own claims to comfort as low even as Mrs. Norris could; and when Sir Thomas soon afterwards, just opening the door, said, “Fanny, at what time would you have the carriage come round?” she felt a degree of astonishment which made it impossible for her to speak.

 

“My dear Sir Thomas!” cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, “Fanny can walk.”

 

“Walk!” repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable dignity, and coming farther into the room. “My niece walk to a dinner engagement at this time of the year!

Will twenty minutes after four suit you?”

 

“Yes, sir,” was Fanny’s humble answer, given with the feelings almost of a criminal towards Mrs. Norris; and not bearing to remain with her in what might seem a state of triumph, she followed her uncle out of the room, having staid behind him only long enough to hear these words spoken in angry agitation—

 

“Quite unnecessary! a great deal too kind!

But Edmund goes; true, it is upon Edmund’s account.

I observed he was hoarse on Thursday night.”

 

But this could not impose on Fanny. She felt that the carriage was for herself, and herself alone: and her uncle’s consideration of her, coming immediately after such representations from her aunt, cost her some tears of gratitude when she was alone.

 

The coachman drove round to a minute; another minute brought down the gentleman; and as the lady had, with a most scrupulous fear of being late, been many minutes seated in the drawing-room, Sir Thomas saw them off in as good time as his own correctly punctual habits required.

 

“Now I must look at you, Fanny,” said Edmund, with the kind smile of an affectionate brother, “and tell you how I like you; and as well as I can judge by this light, you look very nicely indeed. What have you got on?”

 

“The new dress that my uncle was so good as to give me on my cousin’s marriage. I hope it is not too fine; but I thought I ought to wear it as soon as I could, and that I might not have such another opportunity all the winter.

I hope you do not think me too fine.”

 

“A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. No, I see

no finery about you; nothing but what is perfectly proper.

Your gown seems very pretty. I like these glossy spots.

Has not Miss Crawford a gown something the same?”

 

In approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable-yard and coach-house.

 

“Heyday!” said Edmund, “here’s company, here’s a carriage!

who have they got to meet us?” And letting down the side-glass to distinguish, “‘Tis Crawford’s, Crawford’s barouche, I protest! There are his own two men pushing it back into its old quarters. He is here, of course. This is quite a surprise, Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him.”

 

There was no occasion, there was no time for Fanny to say how very differently she felt; but the idea of having such another to observe her was a great increase of the trepidation with which she performed the very awful ceremony of walking into the drawing-room.

 

In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was, having been just long enough arrived to be ready for dinner; and the smiles and pleased looks of the three others standing round him, shewed how welcome was his sudden resolution of coming to them for a few days on leaving Bath.

A very cordial meeting passed between him and Edmund; and with the exception of Fanny, the pleasure was general; and even to her there might be some advantage in his presence, since every addition to the party must rather forward her favourite indulgence of being suffered to sit silent and unattended to. She was soon aware of this herself; for though she must submit, as her own propriety of mind directed, in spite of her aunt Norris’s opinion, to being the principal lady in company, and to all the little distinctions consequent thereon, she found, while they were at table, such a happy flow of conversation prevailing, in which she was not required to take any part—there was so much to be said between the brother and sister about Bath, so much between the two young men about hunting, so much of politics between Mr. Crawford and Dr. Grant, and of everything and all together between Mr. Crawford and Mrs. Grant, as to leave her the fairest prospect of having only to listen in quiet, and of passing a very agreeable day.

She could not compliment the newly arrived gentleman, however, with any appearance of interest, in a scheme for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending for his hunters from Norfolk, which, suggested by Dr. Grant, advised by Edmund, and warmly urged by the two sisters, was soon in possession of his mind, and which he seemed to want to be encouraged even by her to resolve on.

Her opinion was sought as to the probable continuance of the open weather, but her answers were as short and indifferent as civility allowed. She could not wish him to stay, and would much rather not have him speak to her.

 

Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her thoughts on seeing him; but no embarrassing remembrance affected his spirits. Here he was again on the same ground where all had passed before, and apparently as willing to stay and be happy without the Miss Bertrams, as if he had never known Mansfield in any other state.

She heard them spoken of by him only in a general way, till they were all reassembled in the drawing-room, when Edmund, being engaged apart in some matter of business with Dr. Grant, which seemed entirely to engross them, and Mrs. Grant occupied at the tea-table, he began talking of them with more particularity to his other sister.

With a significant smile, which made Fanny quite hate him, he said, “So! Rushworth and his fair bride are at Brighton, I understand; happy man!”

 

“Yes, they have been there about a fortnight, Miss Price, have they not? And Julia is with them.”

 

“And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off.”

 

“Mr. Yates! Oh! we hear nothing of Mr. Yates. I do not imagine he figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park; do you, Miss Price? I think my friend Julia knows better than to entertain her father with Mr. Yates.”

 

“Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches!”

continued Crawford. “Nobody can ever forget them.

Poor fellow! I see him now—his toil and his despair.

Well, I am much mistaken if his lovely Maria will ever want him to make two-and-forty speeches to her”; adding, with a momentary seriousness, “She is too good for him—

much too good.” And then changing his tone again to one of gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny, he said, “You were Mr. Rushworth’s best friend. Your kindness and patience can never be forgotten, your indefatigable patience in trying to make it possible for him to learn his part—

in trying to give him a brain which nature had denied—

to mix up an understanding for him out of the superfluity of your own! He might not have sense enough himself to estimate your kindness, but I may venture to say that it had honour from all the rest of the party.”

 

Fanny coloured, and said nothing.

 

“It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!” he exclaimed, breaking forth again, after a few minutes’ musing. “I shall always look back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure.

There was such an interest, such an animation, such a spirit diffused. Everybody felt it. We were all alive.

There was employment, hope, solicitude, bustle, for every hour of the day. Always some little objection, some little doubt, some little anxiety to be got over.

I never was happier.”

 

With silent indignation Fanny repeated to herself, “Never happier!—never happier than when doing what you must know was not justifiable!—never happier than when behaving so dishonourably and unfeelingly!

Oh! what a corrupted mind!”

 

“We were unlucky, Miss Price,” he continued, in a lower tone, to avoid the possibility of being heard by Edmund, and not at all aware of her feelings, “we certainly were very unlucky. Another week, only one other week, would have been enough for us. I think if we had had the disposal of events—if Mansfield Park had had the government of the winds just for a week or two, about the equinox, there would have been a difference. Not that we would have endangered his safety by any tremendous weather—

but only by a steady contrary wind, or a calm. I think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a week’s calm in the Atlantic at that season.”

 

He seemed determined to be answered; and Fanny, averting her face, said, with a firmer tone than usual, “As far as I am concerned, sir, I would not have delayed his return for a day. My uncle disapproved it all so entirely when he did arrive, that in my opinion everything had gone quite far enough.”

 

She had never spoken so much at once to him in her life before, and never so angrily to any one; and when her speech was over, she trembled and blushed at her own daring. He was surprised; but after a few moments’ silent consideration of her, replied in a calmer, graver tone, and as if the candid result of conviction, “I believe you are right. It was more pleasant than prudent. We were getting too noisy.”

And then turning the conversation, he would have engaged her on some other subject, but her answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not advance in any.

 

Miss Crawford, who had been repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant and Edmund, now observed, “Those gentlemen must have some very interesting point to discuss.”

 

“The most interesting in the world,” replied her brother—

“how to make money; how to turn a good income into a better.

Dr. Grant is giving Bertram instructions about the living he is to step into so soon. I find he takes orders in a few weeks. They were