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

was interrupted by a fine tall boy of eleven years old, who, rushing out of the house, pushed the maid aside, and while William was opening the chaise-door himself, called out, “You are just in time. We have been looking for you this half-hour. The Thrush went out of harbour this morning. I saw her. It was a beautiful sight.

And they think she will have her orders in a day or two.

And Mr. Campbell was here at four o’clock to ask for you: he has got one of the Thrush’s boats, and is going off to her at six, and hoped you would be here in time to go with him.”

 

A stare or two at Fanny, as William helped her out of the carriage, was all the voluntary notice which this brother bestowed; but he made no objection to her kissing him, though still entirely engaged in detailing farther particulars of the Thrush’s going out of harbour, in which he had a strong right of interest, being to commence his career of seamanship in her at this very time.

 

Another moment and Fanny was in the narrow entrance-passage of the house, and in her mother’s arms, who met her there with looks of true kindness, and with features which Fanny loved the more, because they brought her aunt Bertram’s before her, and there were her two sisters: Susan, a well-grown fine girl of fourteen, and Betsey, the youngest of the family, about five—both glad to see her in their way, though with no advantage of manner in receiving her. But manner Fanny did not want.

Would they but love her, she should be satisfied.

 

She was then taken into a parlour, so small that her first conviction was of its being only a passage-room to something better, and she stood for a moment expecting to be invited on; but when she saw there was no other door, and that there were signs of habitation before her, she called back her thoughts, reproved herself, and grieved lest they should have been suspected. Her mother, however, could not stay long enough to suspect anything.

She was gone again to the street-door, to welcome William.

“Oh! my dear William, how glad I am to see you.

But have you heard about the Thrush? She is gone out of harbour already; three days before we had any thought of it; and I do not know what I am to do about Sam’s things, they will never be ready in time; for she may have her orders tomorrow, perhaps. It takes me quite unawares. And now you must be off for Spithead too. Campbell has been here, quite in a worry about you; and now what shall we do?

I thought to have had such a comfortable evening with you, and here everything comes upon me at once.”

 

Her son answered cheerfully, telling her that everything was always for the best; and making light of his own inconvenience in being obliged to hurry away so soon.

 

“To be sure, I had much rather she had stayed in harbour, that I might have sat a few hours with you in comfort; but as there is a boat ashore, I had better go off at once, and there is no help for it. Whereabouts does the Thrush lay at Spithead? Near the Canopus? But no matter; here’s Fanny in the parlour, and why should we stay in the passage? Come, mother, you have hardly looked at your own dear Fanny yet.”

 

In they both came, and Mrs. Price having kindly kissed her daughter again, and commented a little on her growth, began with very natural solicitude to feel for their fatigues and wants as travellers.

 

“Poor dears! how tired you must both be! and now, what will you have? I began to think you would never come.

Betsey and I have been watching for you this half-hour.

And when did you get anything to eat? And what would you like to have now? I could not tell whether you would be for some meat, or only a dish of tea, after your journey, or else I would have got something ready. And now I am afraid Campbell will be here before there is time to dress a steak, and we have no butcher at hand.

It is very inconvenient to have no butcher in the street.

We were better off in our last house. Perhaps you would like some tea as soon as it can be got.”

 

They both declared they should prefer it to anything.

“Then, Betsey, my dear, run into the kitchen and see if Rebecca has put the water on; and tell her to bring in the tea-things as soon as she can. I wish we could get the bell mended; but Betsey is a very handy little messenger.”

 

Betsey went with alacrity, proud to shew her abilities before her fine new sister.

 

“Dear me!” continued the anxious mother, “what a sad fire we have got, and I dare say you are both starved with cold. Draw your chair nearer, my dear. I cannot think what Rebecca has been about. I am sure I told her to bring some coals half an hour ago. Susan, you should have taken care of the fire.”

 

“I was upstairs, mama, moving my things,” said Susan, in a fearless, self-defending tone, which startled Fanny.

“You know you had but just settled that my sister Fanny and I should have the other room; and I could not get Rebecca to give me any help.”

 

Farther discussion was prevented by various bustles: first, the driver came to be paid; then there was a squabble between Sam and Rebecca about the manner of carrying up his sister’s trunk, which he would manage all his own way; and lastly, in walked Mr. Price himself, his own loud voice preceding him, as with something of the oath kind he kicked away his son’s port-manteau and his daughter’s bandbox in the passage, and called out for a candle; no candle was brought, however, and he walked into the room.

 

Fanny with doubting feelings had risen to meet him, but sank down again on finding herself undistinguished in the dusk, and unthought of. With a friendly shake of his son’s hand, and an eager voice, he instantly began—

“Ha! welcome back, my boy. Glad to see you. Have you heard the news? The Thrush went out of harbour this morning.

Sharp is the word, you see! By G—, you are just in time!

The doctor has been here inquiring for you: he has got one of the boats, and is to be off for Spithead by six, so you had better go with him. I have been to Turner’s about your mess; it is all in a way to be done.

I should not wonder if you had your orders tomorrow: but you cannot sail with this wind, if you are to cruise to the westward; and Captain Walsh thinks you will certainly have a cruise to the westward, with the Elephant.

By G—, I wish you may! But old Scholey was saying, just now, that he thought you would be sent first to the Texel. Well, well, we are ready, whatever happens.

But by G—, you lost a fine sight by not being here in the morning to see the Thrush go out of harbour!

I would not have been out of the way for a thousand pounds.

Old Scholey ran in at breakfast-time, to say she had slipped her moorings and was coming out, I jumped up, and made but two steps to the platform. If ever there was a perfect beauty afloat, she is one; and there she lays at Spithead, and anybody in England would take her for an eight-and-twenty. I was upon the platform two hours this afternoon looking at her. She lays close to the Endymion, between her and the Cleopatra, just to the eastward of the sheer hulk.”

 

“Ha!” cried William, “that’s just where I should have put her myself. It’s the best berth at Spithead.

But here is my sister, sir; here is Fanny,” turning and leading her forward; “it is so dark you do not see her.”

 

With an acknowledgment that he had quite forgot her, Mr. Price now received his daughter; and having given her a cordial hug, and observed that she was grown into a woman, and he supposed would be wanting a husband soon, seemed very much inclined to forget her again.

Fanny shrunk back to her seat, with feelings sadly pained by his language and his smell of spirits; and he talked on only to his son, and only of the Thrush, though William, warmly interested as he was in that subject, more than once tried to make his father think of Fanny, and her long absence and long journey.

 

After sitting some time longer, a candle was obtained; but as there was still no appearance of tea, nor, from Betsey’s reports from the kitchen, much hope of any under a considerable period, William determined to go and change his dress, and make the necessary preparations for his removal on board directly, that he might have his tea in comfort afterwards.

 

As he left the room, two rosy-faced boys, ragged and dirty, about eight and nine years old, rushed into it just released from school, and coming eagerly to see their sister, and tell that the Thrush was gone out of harbour; Tom and Charles. Charles had been born since Fanny’s going away, but Tom she had often helped to nurse, and now felt a particular pleasure in seeing again.

Both were kissed very tenderly, but Tom she wanted to keep by her, to try to trace the features of the baby she had loved, and talked to, of his infant preference of herself. Tom, however, had no mind for such treatment: he came home not to stand and be talked to, but to run about and make a noise; and both boys had soon burst from her, and slammed the parlour-door till her temples ached.

 

She had now seen all that were at home; there remained only two brothers between herself and Susan, one of whom was a clerk in a public office in London, and the other midshipman on board an Indiaman.

But though she had seen all the members of the family, she had not yet heard all the noise they could make.

Another quarter of an hour brought her a great deal more.

William was soon calling out from the landing-place of the second story for his mother and for Rebecca.

He was in distress for something that he had left there, and did not find again. A key was mislaid, Betsey accused of having got at his new hat, and some slight, but essential alteration of his uniform waistcoat, which he had been promised to have done for him, entirely neglected.

 

Mrs. Price, Rebecca, and Betsey all went up to defend themselves, all talking together, but Rebecca loudest, and the job was to be done as well as it could in a great hurry; William trying in vain to send Betsey down again, or keep her from being troublesome where she was; the whole of which, as almost every door in the house was open, could be plainly distinguished in the parlour, except when drowned at intervals by the superior noise of Sam, Tom, and Charles chasing each other up and down stairs, and tumbling about and hallooing.

 

Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the house and thinness of the walls brought everything so close to her, that, added to the fatigue of her journey, and all her recent agitation, she hardly knew how to bear it.

Within the room all was tranquil enough, for Susan having disappeared with