Soon after, taking the opportunity of a little languor in the game, Edmund called upon Mr Crawford to discuss his plans of improvement, it being the first time that the ladies had had the opportunity of questioning him on the subject.
‘Mansfield’s natural beauties are great, sir,’ he replied, ‘such a happy fall of ground, and such timber! (Let me see, Miss Price; Mrs Norris bids a dozen for that knave; no, no, a dozen is more than it is worth. Mrs Norris does
not
bid a dozen. She will have nothing to say to it. Go on, go on.) With improvement Mansfield will vie with any place in England.’
‘And what in particular will you be suggesting, Mr Crawford?’ asked Lady Bertram.
‘My survey is not fully complete, ma’am, but I anticipate one or two major works that may put the estate to some expense.’
‘Well, the
expense
need not be any impediment,’ cried Mrs Norris. ‘If I were Sir Thomas, I should not think of the expense. Such a place as Mansfield Park deserves every thing that taste and money can do. For my own part, I am always planting and improving, for naturally I am
excessively
fond of it.We have done a
vast
deal in that way at the White House; we have made it
quite
a different place from what it was when we first had it, and would have done more, had my poor husband lived. I am sure you would learn a great deal from the White House, Mr Crawford,’ finished Mrs Norris carelessly. ‘You may come any day; the housekeeper will be pleased to shew you around.’
Henry merely bowed; even had he intended taking Mrs Norris up on her condescending offer, what he had seen of the house from the road, had already confirmed his opinion that its owner was a person of more fortune than taste.
‘I hope the Mansfield estate will bear any expense you care to propose, Crawford,’ said Sir Thomas solemnly after a few minutes, as another deal proceeded. ‘But, unhappily, I have suffered some recent difficulties on a property I own in Yorkshire, and as I explained to my family this afternoon, I fear I will be obliged to go there myself, to prevent any further losses. And as I will be travelling north I will go first to my niece’s estate in Cumberland, and conduct my annual review with the steward and the bailiff. It is rather earlier in the year than I usually undertake this journey, but my niece’s forthcoming birthday will require certain alterations to the superintendence of the estate, which I must settle on her behalf with the attorney. Nonetheless I am in hopes that the whole business may be concluded within three months, and that I will be able to return to my family well before the winter. In the mean time, Crawford, you have my permission to proceed with the improvements as you see fit; I only stipulate that you keep me informed of your progress by regular correspondence. However,’ he continued with a grave smile, ‘in the light of what we have already heard of your epistolary style from Miss Crawford, I hope that you can be persuaded to supply rather more detail to
me
than observations about my sheep.’
Henry laughed, then bowed his assent, and wished his patron a pleasant journey. The conversation resumed, and the rest of the company turned their attention once again to the game, but seated as she was near to her brother, Mary soon after found herself overhearing a further brief exchange.
‘May I enquire, sir,’ said Henry in a low voice, ‘whether you would wish me to consult Mr Bertram on any decisions of note that arise in your absence?’
Sir Thomas shook his head. ‘Between the management of the estate, and his own shooting parties and horse races, I fear my son will have more than enough to occupy him. Should you need advice, I would recommend your applying to Mr Norris in my stead. He is careful and methodical, and his judgment can be relied upon. Indeed,’ he continued, lowering his voice still further, ‘I had hoped to have the benefit of his company in Cumberland, especially as I will have to instruct the attorney to prepare the settlements, but Mrs Norris has persuaded me that he should remain here, not only to assist my son, but also for his own happiness, at this particular time.’
Mary struggled to contain her agitation, but the case admitted of no equivocation. All doubt was at an end. There was no other way of accounting for Sir Thomas’s words than by supposing that preparations were now in hand for the marriage of Miss Price and Mr Norris.
She made a hasty finish of her dealings with Maria, and exclaimed, ‘There! I have finally learned to harden my heart, and sharpen my self-command. I play for victory like a woman of spirit, but I will only pay for it what it is worth.’
You may imagine her surprise when she found that the game was hers after all, and returned her far more than she had expected, from what she had given to secure it.
It was a silent walk back across the park by moonlight for the parsonage party, with each absorbed in their own private thoughts. Mary had never believed Henry’s attachment to Miss Price to be serious, and how he might be affected by the news of her impending marriage, she could not say; she was too vexed at her own weakness and susceptibility to have much time to consider his feelings. What had she been thinking? To allow herself to become attached to a man destined for another! She could not even claim ignorance as an excuse—the whole county had known of the planned union, and she herself had been informed of it on the very day she arrived in Mansfield. She had been thoughtless and vain, allowing herself to fall, almost unconsciously, into an attachment that could only injure her peace.
The following morning she awoke to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes. It was impossible to think of any thing else, and she was quite amazed at her own discomposure. Edmund was no longer the same Mr Norris to whom she had taken such an early dislike, taking for coldness and pride what was in reality only shyness and diffidence. True, his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing, but they had enjoyed some thing nearly approaching intimacy every morning for almost a month, and now that his natural shyness was overcome, his behaviour to her gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart. And now the advancement of his marriage, which should have confirmed him as the husband of another woman, had on the contrary, only served to make her understand her own heart; and never had she thought she might have loved him, as she did now, when all love must be in vain.
Remembering that they had agreed to ride again that morning, and feeling herself quite unequal to it, she sent word to the Park that she would not go out that day, and attempted to persuade Henry to walk with her, and conduct that morning’s observations on foot.
‘I wish I could oblige you, my dear Mary,’ he replied, ‘but I am currently sketching plans for a Grecian temple on the hill behind the house. It is full two miles from the parsonage, and I should not have time to complete what I have set myself to do today if I were to walk there and back. But,’ he said, smiling, ‘I would be delighted to have your company to the stables. I hear we are to meet the celebrated Mr Rushworth tomorrow, and I am most eager to know what kind of a man to expect. I am sure the young ladies of the Park have made it their business to discover all there is to know on such a promising subject. You must enlighten me, so I may be fully prepared.’
Henry meant only to divert her, and at any other time he would have succeeded; she would have entered into his lively speculations as to the cut of Mr Rushworth’s frock-coat and his preferred blend of snuff with genuine enthusiasm, for she usually took a great delight in any thing ridiculous, and in self-conceit most of all. But she had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to smile, and smile she did, but the effort required was so far beyond her, that it was a welcome relief to watch him ride away.
After wandering in the park alone for two hours, a recollection of her long absence made her decide at length to return home. She was on the point of turning back when she was surprised by the sight of Mr Norris approaching her, and at no great distance. Composing herself and forcing a smile, she began, as they met, to comment upon the beauty of the day.
‘I did not know before that you ever walked this way, Mr Norris,’ she continued, but then, recollecting that this might suggest she had sought the place purposely to avoid seeing him, her colour changed, and she said no more.
‘I have been making a tour of the park,’ he replied, looking in her face, ‘as I generally do on days when I do not ride. Are you going much farther?’
‘No, I should have turned back in a few moments.’
Mary was surprised to find that he intended to accompany her, and accordingly they both turned, and walked together. She was afraid of talking of any thing that might lead them to Miss Price, or his engagement; and, having nothing else to say, was determined to leave the trouble of finding a subject to him. It was some minutes before he did so, but at last, and as if it were an effort, he said, ‘Are you enjoying your stay in Mansfield? Your sister must be glad of your company.’
‘I think she is, yes. But I suspect that as far as Dr Grant is concerned, my brother is an even more welcome guest, since he provides a perfect excuse for drinking claret every day.’
Mr Norris smiled. ‘I should also take this opportunity to thank you, Miss Crawford.’
‘Thank me, Mr Norris?’ she said, in a voice of forced calmness. ‘What occasion could you have to thank me?’
‘For your kindness to my cousin,’ he said, with a serious look. ‘I have been observing your new intimacy with the greatest pleasure. Julia is a dear child, but she has, perhaps, rather too much feeling for her own tranquillity. The companionship of a rational, unaffected woman like yourself can only be of the utmost advantage to her.’
It was not the prettiest compliment she had ever been paid, but now that she knew Mr Norris better, Mary was sensible of his sincerity, and valued his words all the more.
‘The rest of us have so many cares and preoccupations of our own,’ he continued, ‘that we may not have understood how lonely she has become since William’s departure. And even in a large and happy family the position of a youngest offspring can be a solitary one.’
There might, perhaps, have been the suspicion of a sigh at this, and Mary wondered, for the first time, about his own childhood, and what it might have been to have had such a stepmother as Mrs Norris.
For a moment she thought he was about to say more, but he seemed to think better of it, and another long silence succeeded. But when he spoke again he surprised her exceedingly by asking whether she would be staying on in Northampton-shire when the work on the park was completed. She did not know what to make of it.What was it to him, after all, whether she went or staid?
‘I hardly know,’ she stammered, blushing in spite of herself. ‘We—that is, my sister—has not yet invited me. But Henry will certainly be off,’ she continued, recovering her spirits. ‘Surry or Shrop-shire, I forget which, but in any case some where beginning with an S.’ She smiled. ‘But then Henry loves to be continually travelling. Even now, when he may pick and choose his engagements, I have known him to accept commissions simply for the pleasure of being on the road.’
‘I can see that such a man as Mr Crawford would like to have his own way,’ replied Mr Norris in a serious tone. ‘But we cannot all have his same luxury of choice. I envy him that. Most of his fellow men are condemned to self-denial, and an enforced submission to the will of others.’
Mary laughed. ‘I doubt that the nephew of Sir Thomas Bertram can know very much of self-denial. Now, seriously, Mr Norris, what have you ever known of hardship? When have you been prevented from going wherever you chose, whenever the fancy took you? When have you been forced to rely on the kindness of others to supply the necessities of board and lodging?’
She stopped, knowing she had said a great deal too much, and averting her eyes, was unable to see the look on his face as he replied,‘Miss Crawford is pleased to remind me of the differences in our situations. But,’ he said, in a softer accent, ‘in some matters of great weight, I too have suffered from the want of independence.’
‘Is this,’ thought Mary, ‘meant to refer to Miss Price?’ Her embarrassment appeared in an agitated look, his in a rush of colour; and for a few minutes they were both silent; till the distant apparition of Henry promised to save them both from further discomfiture. He met them with great affability, saying that he had returned to the parsonage, and finding Mary still absent, had walked out to meet her. Mr Norris took the first opportunity of consigning Mary to her brother’s care, and when Henry then turned to her and asked what the two of them had been talking of so earnestly, she hardly knew how to answer.
As she dressed for dinner the following day, Mary struggled to achieve at least the appearance of composure; her brother might make such public shew of his own attachment as he chose, and not care for the consequences; Mary must be more guarded and more circumspect. And now that she was fully apprised of her own feelings, she was apprehensive lest Henry’s discernment or her sister’s shrewd eye might discover the truth; she did not know, in reality, whether it was her brother’s raillery she feared more, or the sisterly concern of Mrs Grant’s warm and affectionate heart.
For the time being, however, Mrs Grant seemed more concerned with the small cares and anxieties of her toilette. ‘What dreadful hot weather this is!’ she said, working away her fan as if for life, as the carriage made its way across the park. ‘It keeps one in a continual state of inelegance.’
‘We shall, at least, find the company somewhat enlivened this evening by the presence of another guest,’ remarked her husband, rather sourly. ‘A larger group is always preferable— tiny parties force one into constant exertion.’
As they approached the Park, they passed close by the stable-yard and coach-house.
‘Ha!’ cried Henry in delight. ‘The much-anticipated Rushworth must be here already! You were right, Mary, ’tis a barouche. And a very fine one, at that! Quite as gaudy and ostentatious as I expected. This is much better than I had dared to hope; I anticipate an evening of the keenest enjoyment.’