Edmund Bertram's Diary (19 page)

‘Mr. Crawford has an estate in Norfolk, and Miss Crawford is an heiress. A beautiful and intel igent young woman by al accounts. Are they stil at Mansfield?’

‘For the present, but they wil not be there for much longer. Miss Crawford is going to stay in London for an extended visit.’

‘She wil be staying with her uncle?’ asked Owen.

‘No, with her friend, a Mrs. Fraser.’

There was a short pause, then Mrs. Owen said, ‘It seems a shame that you should have to hurry back to Mansfield tomorrow, Mr. Bertram, we have seen so very little of you. Wil you not do us the very great favor of staying another week?’

I thought of Mansfield and I knew that Mary would not yet have left, so that if I returned as planned I would be forced into company with her. I found I did not want to see her again. What use would it be for me to torment myself with the sight of her, when I knew she would never marry me? For she would not be satisfied until she had a house in town and a husband who was universal y acclaimed.

And then I thought of Owen’s house, with his welcoming family and his pretty sisters, and I said,

‘You are very kind. I would like to stay above al things.’

Mrs. Owen smiled.

‘Then it is settled,’ she said.

1809

Thursday 5 January

‘Your sister Maria is newly married, I understand?’ said Mrs. Owen, as I walked through the vil age with the family this morning.

‘Yes, she is, to Mr. Rushworth.’

‘He is a man of considerable property, I believe. Your mother must be very pleased. I would not stand in the way of my daughters if their feelings cal ed them to such a marriage, but I confess I would rather see them married to clergymen. They would make such good clergymen’s wives, al of them. They have been used to helping their father about the parish, visiting the sick and the elderly, helping with the children, sewing clothes, giving advice, and of course now they wil be able to help their brother, too. Do you have anyone to help you in your parish, Mr. Bertram?’

I could not misunderstand her, and let her know, in a roundabout fashion, that I was not in a position to marry, for although I had wanted to marry Mary, I had no desire to marry any of the Miss Owens, no matter how pretty they were.

‘But you wil be, one day,’ she said. ‘I hope you may find a pretty and useful wife to support you, a young woman who wil bring gladness to your life, and turn your Parsonage into a home. There is more to life than work, however noble the cal ing and, as I often say to my son, he must not neglect his future in the busy application of the present. But come, we have fal en behind the others, we wil have to hurry if we are to catch them before they turn into the lane.’

We soon drew level with them. Owen was walking next to Miss Anne, and his father was walking next to Miss Lucy.

‘Jane, dear, you look fatigued,’ said Mrs. Owen.

I offered Miss Owen my arm, which she took with a smile, and then I offered her mother my other arm. She took it, and thus arranged, we headed home.

I made sure to raise no expectations in Miss Owen, and this evening I paid attention to her two sisters, to make my intentions clear: having given her mother a hint that I was not ready to settle, I felt it incumbent upon me to give Miss Owen a hint likewise. But I could not help thinking that it would be a lucky man who won her, for her kind of beauty, elegance and sweet nature are seldom met with.

Tuesday 10 January

My visit came to an end this morning. The Owens sent me off with good wishes, with Mrs. Owen tel ing me I must stay with them whenever I should find myself in the neighborhood, and Mr. Owen seconding her invitation. Owen rode with me as far as Peterborough, where he left me, and I went on alone. The weather remained fine, with a piercing blue sky and sharp shadows, but it was bitingly cold, and I was glad of the exercise to keep me warm. As I neared Mansfield I was glad I did not have to fear meeting Miss Crawford, for her satirical comments on my new status would have been hard to bear. To be laughed at before I was a clergyman had been hard enough; to be laughed at when my ambition was accomplished would have been far worse. I had so far schooled myself to forgetting her, that when I saw her walking through the vil age with her brother I was astonished. I was forced to stop, and I steeled myself to her satirical words. But I was surprised to hear her saying, in the most affable manner, ‘Mr. Bertram! This is a welcome surprise. You have been very much missed.’

My thoughts were sent reeling. What did it mean? Had she been thinking about what I had said?

Had her natural justice done what her hastiness could not, and shown her the truth of my words? And had they been strong enough to do away with her unreasonable prejudices?

The smile that accompanied her words was so radiant it gave me cause to hope. I returned her greeting, and rode on to Mansfield Park with my spirits singing. She was stil at Mansfield! And she had greeted me warmly! And with such a smile! She had decided — perhaps she had decided — that the church was an honorable cal ing; and that true friendship, and more than friendship, outweighed al other considerations. But whatever the case, of one thing I could be certain: she had missed me!

There was more good news when I reached home. Once I had greeted my family, I settled myself by the fire, ready to hear al the Mansfield news. I was hoping, too, to hear why Miss Crawford and her brother were stil in the neighborhood.

‘What do you think, Edmund?’ asked my aunt. ‘Wil iam has been made a lieutenant.’

It was the best possible news for Fanny, and her looks spoke her happiness. I forestal ed my aunt, who would have given me every particular, by asking Fanny to tel me al about it, and I soon learned that Wil iam had been helped to his good fortune by Admiral Crawford, at Henry’s instigation.

‘Fanny, this is a wonderful thing,’ I said, delighted at her happiness.

‘Oh, yes, Edmund, is it not?’ she said. ‘Wil iam was so worried about being passed over, but Mr. Crawford took him to dine with the Admiral, and the Admiral bestirred himself, with the result that Wil iam is now second Lieutenant of HM sloop Thrush.’

‘And never a young man deserved it more! But how good of Crawford to help him!’

Fanny blushed, but it was not until after dinner, when I sat over the port with my father, that I learned the cause of her blushes. No youthful colorings these, for in my absence Henry Crawford had proposed to her!

I could not believe it at first, but when I had grasped it, I thought it was an excel ent thing, for it meant that Fanny and I would not be parted. When I married Mary — if I married Mary; if her smiles had told me what her heartfelt — and Fanny married Henry, then we would be united through two bonds, and would be together forever. Mary would want to visit Henry at his own estate, and what could be more natural than that we should go for lengthy visits, when I would have not only the pleasure of gratifying Mary’s wishes to see her brother, but my own wishes to see my dearest Fanny? And in return, they would come and stay with us at Thornton Lacey. I was about to express my wholehearted delight in the engagement when my father hesitated, and said, ‘There is just one thing I find it hard to comprehend. Fanny has refused him.’

‘Refused him?’ I asked in surprise.

‘Yes. You have always understood her very wel , Edmund. It would be an excel ent match for her. It would provide her with an establishment, a very good establishment I might say, and a settled and secure future. It is a match I could not have presumed to hope for, as I can give Fanny very little in the way of a dowry, and Crawford is entitled to look much higher, but I am very happy to think of it. He is not only wealthy, he has no vices, and he is an agreeable young man into the bargain. The ladies al seem to like him. And yet she has stil refused him. Why do you think she has done it?’

‘I should imagine she was taken by surprise, and did not know what to say.’

‘Perhaps. Although I cannot think why she should be surprised. I have noticed his interest in her with pleasure for some time now, and have hoped it might lead to something. Fanny’s future has often troubled me. Taking her in as we did, we took on responsibility for her, and I did not want to see her dwindle into an old maid, but I confess there have been times when I have not been able to see a different future for her. She is so quiet, and we live so retired, that I knew she would have little opportunity to meet other young people. I was hoping that Maria might ask her to stay, although I also dreaded the idea, for I feared the noise and the bustle of London would not suit her. But if she marries Crawford, she wil be wel provided for, and I am persuaded she wil be happy. And yet she has turned him down.’

‘Fanny thinks so poorly of herself, and her own claims to the ordinary happinesses of life, that, until he proposed, she probably thought his attentions were nothing but kindness.’

‘Then it does not surprise you?’

‘Not at al , and I honor her for it. She could do nothing else. But now that she has been alerted to his preference she wil have time to grow used to it and to enjoy it by and by. She deserves to have the love of a good man, one who can give her the elegancies of life, as wel as his kindness, his friendship and his affection.’

‘It wil be a very big change for her.’

‘Yes, it wil . She wil go from being our quiet, shy Fanny, to being the centre of attention, but I am sure she wil come round. Indeed, I think it must be so. Crawford has been too precipitate, that is al . He has not given her time to attach herself. He has begun at the wrong end. But with such powers of pleasing, he must be able to win her over.’

‘I am glad to hear you say so.’

‘Depend upon it, it wil al come right in the end.’

As soon as my father and I returned to the drawing-room for tea, I sat down next to Fanny and took her hand.

‘Fanny, I have been hearing al about your proposal,’ I said warmly. ‘I am not surprised. You have powers of attaching a man that another woman would envy, through your goodness and your purity of spirit. Now I see why Crawford put himself out to help Wil iam. He was helping his future brother-in-law!’

‘But I have refused him,’ she said quietly.

‘Of course, for the moment. But when you come to know him better you wil see that he is just the sort of man to make you happy.’

She said no more but, feeling sure that she would soon change her mind, I let the matter drop and turned the conversation instead to Wil iam.

‘Wil iam is coming to stay with us, I understand,’ I said.

She brightened.

‘Yes, he wil be here before long. He wants to see us al and thank us for our help in his promotion.’

‘Though it was al Crawford’s doing,’ I put in.

‘He would like to show us his uniform, too, but he is not al owed to wear it except on duty.’

‘Never mind. He wil just have to describe it to us and we wil then be able to imagine him in al his splendor.’

She talked on happily, looking forward to the day when she wil see him again. Wednesday 11 January

I was so heartened by Mary’s reception of me that I went over to Thornton Lacey this morning to give instructions for the farmyard to be moved, for I wanted to make the place respectable before showing it to Mary.

‘It needs to be over there, behind the copse, out of sight and downwind of the house,’ I said to the men.

They began to work, and I thought how big an improvement it would make to the property. I went into the house and looked into every corner, seeing what needed doing. Over luncheon I asked my father if I could borrow some more men to help me, and he gave me leave to take anyone I wanted.

This afternoon I returned to Thornton Lacey with Christopher Jackson. He fol owed me in, pausing just inside the front door, then swinging it back and forth and listening to it squeak.

‘This needs attention,’ he said.

‘See to it for me, wil you, Jackson?’

He nodded, and we went through to the drawing-room. ‘There are some loose floorboards over here by the window. ’

‘Shouldn’t take too long,’ he said.

As we were about to leave the room he looked at the fire-place.

‘I could make you something better than that, something worth looking at,’ he said. ‘What this room needs is a carved chimneypiece.’

I saw at once what he meant. The grate was a good size, and it would repay framing. An ornate chimneypiece would give the room an elegant feel, and I could picture Mary sitting in front of it, playing her harp.

‘A good idea. Give me something worth having.’

His eyes lingered on the chimney, and I could tel he already had some ideas in mind. Upstairs, there were some cupboards that needed shelves, and a window frame that needed replacing. When we had been al round the house, I asked him to start work tomorrow. I rode back to Mansfield Park and changed, just in time for dinner. When I went downstairs I discovered that Crawford had cal ed, and my father had invited him to stay for dinner. I wished he had brought his sister with him, but thought that, after al , perhaps it was a good thing he had not, as it would give me an opportunity to see him and Fanny together; if Mary had been present, I would have had eyes only for her.

I was hoping to see some signs of affection for him in Fanny’s face and demeanor, for I was sure that liking for the brother of her friend, gratitude towards the friend of her brother, and sweet pleasure in the honorable attentions of such a man, would combine to spread a warm glow over her face. A blush, a smile, a look of consciousness — these were the things I was expecting, but I did not see any of them. I was surprised but Crawford did not seem disturbed, and he sat beside her with an ease and confidence that spoke of his expectation of being a welcome companion. As he took a seat beside her, I thought her reserve and her natural shyness must soon be worn away. But no such thing. I tried to explain it to myself as embarrassment, but I thought Crawford must be real y in love to press his suit with so little encouragement.

After dinner, luckily for Crawford, things improved. When we returned to the drawing-room, Mama happened to mention that Fanny had been reading to her from Shakespeare. Crawford took up the book and asked to be al owed to finish the reading. He began, and read so wel that Fanny listened with great pleasure, gradual y let ing her needlework fal into her lap. At last she turned her eyes on him and fixed them there until he turned towards her and closed the book, breaking the charm.