Edmund Bertram's Diary

JULY

Friday 1 July

I wrote to my father this morning and I was just sending the letter when my aunt entered the drawing-room. She had visited the Grants to give them a hint of Maria’s nuptials and had returned from the Parsonage with some news.

‘One wedding brings on another. It seems you will not have to go to London in search of an heiress after all,’ she said portentously to Tom. ‘We are to have an addition to the neighborhood, or rather, two additions. Mrs. Grant’s brother and sister — her mother’s children by a second marriage — will soon be joining her. It is a sad tale. Their parents died some time ago, whereupon they went to live with an aunt and uncle, but now their aunt has died, too, and as their uncle proposes to move his mistress into the house, they do not feel they can stay with him any longer, and so they are to come here.’

‘Shocking,’ said Mama placidly, as she played with Pug. ‘I am sure Sir Thomas would never approve of such a thing.’

‘But although it may be unfortunate for Mr. and Miss Crawford, it is likely to be a good thing for us,’ said my aunt. ‘Miss Crawford is a considerable heiress, with twenty thousand pounds, and Mrs. Grant assures me she is as elegant as she is accomplished, being a beauty besides.’

‘How is that good for us?’ Tom teased my aunt.

‘Why, because you can marry her,’ she replied.

Tom was still laughing at the notion as we went out for a ride this afternoon.

‘I think you should marry Miss Crawford,’ he said to me,

‘in fact I have a mind to promote the match. I promised Papa that I would make it up to you for losing you the Mansfield living; and as the new incumbent, Dr Grant, is refusing to die of an apoplexy as I hoped he would, so that the living would revert to you, then a good marriage is the quickest way to ensure your prosperity.’

I begged him to be serious but he said that he was.

‘She is just the wife for you. Her fortune will allow you to enlarge the rectory at Thornton Lacey and keep a carriage.’

‘If she is to be rich and beautiful I am surprised you do not want to marry her yourself,’ I said.

‘God forbid! The last thing I want is a wife.’

But I find myself hoping he might take a liking to her, for a wife would be the very thing to steady him, and perhaps marriage would make him take a pride in his inheritance and give him a desire to work to preserve it.

Monday 11 July

I scarcely know what I am writing, for I have had such a jolt to my feelings that I am quite dazed. I returned from estate business this afternoon to find a beautiful young woman in the drawing room. I caught a glimpse of her profile first and felt my pulse quicken, and when she turned her face towards mine, the hope flashed through my mind that Tom would not care for her after all, for she was the most charming young woman I had ever seen. She had bright, dark eyes and dark hair, with a clear brown complexion and a smiling mouth, whilst her figure was small and dainty. She was a complete contrast to Maria and Julia, whose tall fairness, as they sat next to her, set off her dark loveliness like two willowy reeds setting off a forest pool. But as I took my seat I found that Tom seemed to have abandoned his intention of remaining a bachelor, for he was at his liveliest. He was entertaining Miss Crawford with tales of his trip to Antigua and she was smiling and laughing. She seemed delighted with him. And how could she not be? For when Tom puts himself out to please, he never fails. And were he not half so amusing, his position as a baronet’s heir, with the added advantages of person and conversation, could hardly fail to please any young woman.

Tom at last turned his attention to Mr. Crawford, who happened to mention his horse, and the two of them began a lengthy conversation about the merits of their hunters. Miss Crawford turned her attention to me and to my surprise I found myself tongue-tied, but luckily her conversation was lively enough for two.

When I had command of myself once more I asked her about her journey into Northamptonshire and she answered me civilly, making the commonplace remarks about the roads and the carriage seem interesting and amusing. I was about to ask her what she thought of Mansfield when Tom caught her attention and she was soon laughing with him again. I ought to be pleased that he has taken a liking to her, and she to him, but instead I find myself hoping that Tom will soon grow tired of her, and that I might see a great deal more of her in the coming weeks.

Tuesday 12 July

Tom was full of admiration for Miss Crawford this morning, saying that she was a very elegant young woman, and Maria and Julia seemed equally struck with Henry Crawford.

Wednesday 13 July

We dined at the Parsonage this evening. Fanny was very quiet, but nevertheless I believe she enjoyed herself, for she does not go out so often that it is a commonplace to her. Miss Crawford was very lively, and matched Tom’s wit with her own. I managed to speak to her, too, and found her as agreeable to listen to as to look at. The Crawfords are an addition to our circle, and their presence bodes well for the summer.

Thursday 14 July

We have seen the Crawfords twice now, and on both occasions Miss Crawford has delighted me. She has such a lively way of talking and such dancing dark eyes that I can think of nothing else.

Mama and Aunt Norris are pleased with the Crawfords, too.

‘I knew how it would be,’ said my aunt. ‘Miss Crawford is as elegant and charming a young woman as you could wish to meet, and with her fortune, Tom, she would make you an excellent wife. Her brother, too, is quite the gentleman. I thought him plain at first—’

‘Plain?’ cried Maria and Julia together in astonishment.

‘At first,’ said my aunt. ‘But after the second meeting I thought him not so very plain, and after dining at the Parsonage yesterday, I find I consider him to be one of the handsomest men of my acquaintance. He has so much countenance, and his teeth are so good, and he is so well made, that he is a great addition to our circle.’

‘Indeed,’ said Maria, ‘he is the most agreeable man I ever met.’

‘But not so agreeable as Mr. Rushworth?’ I asked.

‘Of course our dear Maria favors Mr. Rushworth,’ put in my aunt. ‘He is everything that is amiable and amusing. Such manners, such an air...’

‘He is not half so agreeable as Mr. Crawford,’ said Julia, with far more truth.

‘And if I do not mistake the matter — which I am sure I do not — he finds you extremely agreeable, too, Julia,’ said my aunt, keen to promote this preference on the part of Julia. ‘A double wedding would be a very pleasant thing, with Tom marrying Mary Crawford, and Julia marrying Mr. Crawford. I am persuaded Sir Thomas would be very pleased.’

‘As to that, it would be a triple wedding, for I am already engaged,’ said Maria. ‘But for all that, there really is no harm in my paying attention to an agreeable man. Everybody knows my situation, and Mr. Crawford must take care of himself.’

This speech did nothing to reassure me, but when I spoke to my aunt about it, she said,

‘Depend upon it, Maria is only paying attention to Mr. Crawford because she is cross with Mr. Rushworth for leaving her in order to visit a friend. He cannot expect Maria to stay indoors until he returns. I believe it will be no bad thing if Mr. Crawford pays some attention to Maria, for it will teach Mr. Rushworth a lesson, and when he returns he will see that he must guard his treasures if he is not to lose them.’

‘Do you think he may lose them?’ I asked. ‘Do you think Maria is not really in love with him? If that is the case, I should not have allowed things to go this far. Long engagements are never a good thing, and this engagement of Maria’s, unsanctioned by my father and not likely to be sanctioned for many weeks, is worse than most. It puts everyone in a false position. ’

‘You misunderstand me. I am sure Maria loves him but a woman does not like to be ignored, and it will do Mr. Rushworth no harm to learn this fact. We all want Maria to be happy when she becomes Mrs. Rushworth, and not to find herself left behind whilst her husband goes roaming about the country.’

Rushworth’s going to stay with a friend for a fortnight did not seem like roaming about the country to me, but my aunt knows far more about women than I do, and no doubt she is right. Even so, I wish Papa might come home soon, for I am sure he will be better at looking after his daughters than I can ever be.

Besides, I feel in need of some advice myself. I can think of nothing but Miss Crawford — but it seems Miss Crawford can think of nothing but Tom.

Friday 15 July

The Crawfords called again today. Crawford had been intending to bring his sister to stay with the Grants and then leave the neighborhood, but he seems to find it agreeable here, for he said it was now his intention to stay awhile.

The day was fine and we were soon walking together.

‘You have an excellent property here, Mr. Bertram,’ Miss Crawford said as she strolled along next to Tom. ‘It has a real park, some five miles round, my sister tells me?’

‘That is so, five miles exactly,’ said Tom.

‘I must congratulate you on it. There are not many so fine. Why, a mile or two seems to be enough for some people to proclaim they have a park, when really it is nothing of the kind. The house, too, is remarkable. It is very spacious, and I like a house that is modern built, with none of the small windows that make older houses so dark. The ceilings are so high, and the rooms so large, that it is a pleasure to sit in them.’

‘Then we must hope you will grace it with your presence for a long time to come!’ said Tom courteously.

She inclined her head and smiled bewitchingly, and made me long to offer her my arm, which, however, I could not do, as she was clearly not at all fatigued and was instead very lively. She moved her hands expressively when she talked, and everything about her spoke of health and life.

‘You should have an engraving made of the house,’ she said. ‘I always say that a well-built house should be honored with an engraving. I am sure I have seen many smaller houses treated in this way, and Mansfield Park would grace any collection in which it was included.’

‘I have always thought it a very fine house,’ said Mama. ‘Sir Thomas is very proud of it.’

‘And with good reason. It is one of the finest baronet’s seats in the land,’ said my aunt.

‘My brother tells me you have a horse running in a race soon?’ Miss Crawford asked Tom. My aunt smiled at this, and exchanged a glance with Mama, who, however, did not appear to notice. But the meaning of my aunt’s smile was clear: Miss Crawford’s interest was not in a horse race, but in my brother.

‘Indeed I do! It is running at Brighton, a very fine animal and sure to win. Have you ever been to the Brighton races?’

‘No, I must confess I have not.’

‘Then we must correct that.’

‘Are they not a little wild?’ she asked.

‘Nonsense. all the best people go. Why, the Prince of Wales himself goes. I saw him there myself, the first time I attended. It was when I was with my friend Frobisher. Do you know Frobisher?’

‘I do not believe I have had the pleasure.’

‘You would like him. He makes us roar with laughter. When we were in Brighton last we decided to go sea bathing and Frobisher swam off by himself. Then he gave a strangled cry, to make us all look at him, flailed his arms wildly and disappeared under the waves. We all swam over there and searched for him frantically. Then up he popped behind us, laughing fit to burst at the expressions on our faces! You really must come. I cannot promise you Frobisher, for his father has sent him out of the country, but I can show you the sights and take you to the races. You would enjoy it, I have no doubt. We could make a party of it. We could all go. What do you say to that, Mama? Would you like to go to Brighton?’

‘It is a very long way,’ said Mama.

‘Nonsense!’

The subject was discussed back and forth, but nothing was decided on by the end of the visit, and Miss Crawford promised to think of it more overnight so that we could resume the discussion tomorrow.

Saturday 16 July

The weather being fine we walked out this morning and the subject of making a party to attend the races was again raised, but the difficulties of finding enough carriages and arranging accommodation made it clear that the matter would only do to be talked of, for realizing it was beyond our reach.

Fanny was soon tired and I offered her my arm, but Crawford was too quick for me, saying that he would escort her back to the house. Maria and Julia went with them, though I believe Julia would have stayed if Maria had not made a very pointed remark about needing her, leaving Tom, Miss Crawford and me to continue our walk.

‘I begin now to understand you all, except Miss Price,’ said Miss Crawford to me, as we wandered through the shrubbery. ‘Pray, is she out, or is she not? I am puzzled. She dined at the Parsonage, with the rest of you, which seemed like being out; and yet she says so little, that I can hardly suppose she is.’

‘I believe I know what you mean, but I will not undertake to answer the question. My cousin is grown-up. She has the age and sense of a woman, but the outs and not outs are beyond me,’ I replied.

‘And yet, in general, nothing can be more easily ascertained. The distinction is so broad. Manners as well as appearance are, generally speaking, so totally different. Till now, I could not have supposed it possible to be mistaken as to a girl’s being out or not. A girl not out has always the same sort of dress: a close bonnet, for instance; looks very demure, and never says a word. You may smile, but it is so, I assure you; and except that it is sometimes carried a little too far, it is all very proper. Girls should be quiet and modest. The most objectionable part is, that the alteration of manners on being introduced into company is frequently too sudden. They sometimes pass in such very little time from reserve to quite the opposite — to confidence! That is the faulty part of the present system. One does not like to see a girl of eighteen or nineteen so immediately up to everything — and perhaps when one has seen her hardly able to speak the year before. Mr. Bertram, I dare say you have sometimes met with such changes.’

‘I believe I have, but this is hardly fair; I see what you are at. You are quizzing me about Miss Anderson,’ said Tom.

‘No, indeed. Miss Anderson! I do not know who or what you mean. I am quite in the dark. But I will quiz you with a great deal of pleasure, if you will tell me what about.’

‘Ah! you carry it off very well, but I cannot be quite so far imposed on. You must have had Miss Anderson in your eye, in describing an altered young lady. You paint too accurately for mistake. It was exactly so. The Andersons of Baker Street. We were speaking of them the other day, you know. Edmund, you have heard me mention Charles Anderson. The circumstance was precisely as this lady has represented it. When Anderson first introduced me to his family, about two years ago, his sister was not out, and I could not get her to speak to me. I sat there an hour one morning waiting for Anderson, with only her and a little girl or two in the room, the governess being sick or run away, and the mother in and out every moment with letters of business, and I could hardly get a word or a look from the young lady — nothing like a civil answer — she screwed up her mouth, and turned from me with such an air! I did not see her again for a twelvemonth. She was then out. I met her at Mrs. Holford’s, and did not recollect her. She came up to me, claimed me as an acquaintance, stared me out of countenance; and talked and laughed till I did not know which way to look. I felt that I must be the jest of the room at the time, and Miss Crawford, it is plain, has heard the story.’

‘And a very pretty story it is, and with more truth in it, I dare say, than does credit to Miss Anderson. It is too common a fault. Mothers certainly have not yet got quite the right way of managing their daughters. I do not know where the error lies. I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see that they are often wrong.’

‘Those who are showing the world what female manners should be, are doing a great deal to set them right,’ said Tom gallantly.

‘The error is plain enough, such girls are ill brought up. They are given wrong notions from the beginning. They are always acting upon motives of vanity, and there is no more real modesty in their behavior before they appear in public than afterwards,’ I said, for the business seemed clear to me.

‘I do not know, I cannot agree with you there,’ said Miss Crawford. Turning back to Tom, she said, ‘It is much worse to have girls not out give themselves the same airs and take the same liberties as if they were, which I have seen done. That is worse than anything — quite disgusting!’

‘Yes, that is very inconvenient indeed,’ agreed Tom. ‘It leads one astray; one does not know what to do. The close bonnet and demure air you describe so well (and nothing was ever juster) tell one what is expected; but I got into a dreadful scrape last year from the want of them. I went down to Rams-gate for a week with a friend...’

And he embarked on another anecdote, which entertained Miss Crawford no less than the first. I searched my memory for something light and amusing with which to entertain her, but my years spent looking after the estate had given me no such diverting moments, and I was pleased when at last the conversation returned to Fanny.

‘But now I must be satisfied about Miss Price,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘Does she go to balls? Does she dine out everywhere, as well as at my sister’s?’

‘I do not think she has ever been to a ball,’ I said.

‘Oh, then the point is clear. Miss Price is not out.’

I could not help thinking about the matter further, though, when Miss Crawford left us. Fanny is eighteen, and my sisters were both attending balls by that age, schooled in what was expected of them by Mama and my aunt. But for some reason Fanny had been overlooked. I raised the point with my aunt, who said only that she was sure Fanny had no notion of being brought out, and Mama, who said that Fanny was too young, for she was not strong and so it was unsuitable for her to be brought out as early as my sisters.

‘Besides,’ she said, ‘I need Fanny to stay with me when you all go to a ball. I could not do without Fanny.’

I think, for the time being, I will say no more, but I will not have her neglected, and once my father returns I mean to broach the subject with him. Fanny must have her share of the pleasures as well as everyone else, and as Mama will no longer be lonely when Papa returns it will then be the time for Fanny to start going into society.

Monday 18 July

Tom left for Brighton this morning. He went early, saying to me, ‘Never fear, I have promised Papa not to gamble, and I mean to keep my word. I am a reformed character!’

I gave him a look, but he only laughed, and then he was on his way. He showed no regret at leaving Miss Crawford, and as he had never once talked of abandoning his trip so that he might spend more time with her, I believe he is not serious in his feelings for her.

To my relief, Miss Crawford does not seem to be serious in her feelings for him, either. I thought she would be in low spirits at his departure, but when she and her brother called on us this afternoon she was ‘bright as the day, and like the morning, fair’.

‘And are you missing your brother?’ Miss Crawford asked Julia, as we walked out in the grounds.

‘Not in the least,’ said Julia.

‘And you, Mr. Bertram?’ she asked me. ‘How well that sounds,’ she mused, ‘for now that your brother is away, you are no longer Mr. Edmund Bertram, but Mr. Bertram. will you miss your brother?’

‘I will not have time, for he will be home again in a few weeks,’ I said.

‘Very true. I should not miss my brother if he were to go away, as he talks of doing, to look after his estate, but perhaps others here would.’

Maria said politely that of course he must be missed if he went, whereupon Crawford said that his going was by no means certain, and that as he had only himself to please, and as Mrs. Grant pressed him to stay, he believed his estate could do without him a little longer. I was pleased for Miss Crawford’s sake. She and her brother are close, and I know she enjoys his company, for all her teasing: small wonder, when she has neither mother nor father, and only a half sister in Mrs. Grant.

We soon parted company, too soon for my liking, but we are to meet again tomorrow. Miss Crawford’s person and appearance grow on me daily and I find myself thinking that any day in which I do not see her is a day ill spent.

Thursday 21 July

We were joined for dinner by Rushworth, for he had returned from visiting his friend. Maria seemed pleased to see him and introduced him proudly, which did much to allay my fears about her feelings for him, and Rushworth seemed very pleased to be with us. Before long he began talking about the improvements his friend was making to his estate.

‘I mean to improve my own place in the same way,’ he said as we went into dinner. ‘Smith’s place is the admiration of all the country; and it was a mere nothing before Repton took it in hand. I think I shall have Repton.’

‘If I were you, I would have a very pretty shrubbery. One likes to get out into a shrubbery in fine weather,’ said Mama.

‘Smith has not much above a hundred acres altogether in his grounds, which is little enough, and makes it more surprising that the place can have been so improved. Now, at Sotherton we have a good seven hundred, without reckoning the water meadows; so that I think, if so much could be done at Compton, we need not despair.’

I saw Miss Crawford glance at Maria, and Maria looked pleased at this talk of her future home.

‘There have been two or three fine old trees cut down, that grew too near the house,’ went on Rushworth, ‘and it opens the prospect amazingly, which makes me think that Repton, or anybody of that sort, would certainly have the avenue at Sotherton down: the avenue that leads from the west front to the top of the hill, you know,’ he said. Fanny and I exchanged startled glances.

‘Cut down an avenue!’ said Fanny to me in an aside. ‘What a pity! Does it not make you think of Cowper? Ye fallen avenues, once more I mourn your fate unmerited.’

‘I am afraid the avenue stands a bad chance, Fanny,’ I said.

The conversation turned to talk of alterations in general and Miss Crawford began to speak of her uncle’s cottage at Twickenham, but as she did so I was surprised to find that she seemed to blame him for the dirt and inconvenience of the alterations he was making. Her liveliness seemed out of place and her droll comments, instead of lifting my spirits, dampened them, for it was disagreeable to hear her speak so slightingly of the man who had taken her in when her parents had died.

I was glad when the conversation moved on to her harp.

‘I am assured that it is safe at Northampton; and there it has probably been these ten days, in spite of the solemn assurances we have so often received to the contrary,’ she said. ‘I am to have it tomorrow; but how do you think it is to be conveyed? Not by a wagon or cart: oh no! nothing of that kind could be hired in the village. I might as well have asked for porters and a handbarrow.’

I smiled at her naïveté, for she was surprised that it should be difficult to hire a horse and cart at this time of year! What did she expect, when the grass had to be got in?

‘I shall understand all your ways in time; but, coming down with the true London maxim, that everything is to be got with money, I was a little embarrassed at first by the sturdy independence of your country customs,’ she said. ‘However, I am to have my harp fetched tomorrow. Henry, who is good-nature itself, has offered to fetch it in his barouche. will it not be honorably conveyed?’

Her humor was infectious, and I found myself looking forward to the morrow, for if there is one instrument I like above all others, it is the harp. Fanny expressed a wish to hear it, too.

‘I shall be most happy to play to you both,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘Now, Mr. Bertram, if you write to your brother, I entreat you to tell him that my harp is come. And you may say, if you please, that I shall prepare my most plaintive airs against his return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know his horse will lose.’

‘If I write, I will say whatever you wish me,’ I replied, rather more reluctantly than I had intended, for I was dismayed to know that she still thought of Tom, even though he was no longer with us.

‘But I do not, at present, foresee any occasion for writing.’

‘What strange creatures brothers are! You would not write to each other but upon the most urgent necessity in the world. Henry, who is in every other respect exactly what a brother should be, who loves me, consults me, confides in me, and will talk to me by the hour together, has never yet turned the page in a letter; and very often it is nothing more than, “Dear Mary, I am just arrived. Bath seems full, and everything as usual. Yours sincerely.” That is the true manly style; that is a complete brother’s letter,’ she said comically. Fanny, however, saw nothing amusing in it, and was indignant on behalf of her own brother, her much-loved William. She could not help saying boldly, ‘When they are at a distance from all their family, they can write long letters.’

I was glad that love had driven her to do what encouragement had not; for it did me good to hear her join in the conversation and express her views, rather than sit quietly by.

‘Miss Price has a brother at sea, whose excellence as a correspondent makes her think you too severe upon us,’ I explained, as Miss Crawford looked startled.

‘Ah. I understand. He is at sea, is he? In the King’s service, of course?’

Fanny had by that time blushed for her own forwardness, but as it was an excellent opportunity for her to speak, I remained resolutely silent, so that she had to continue. As she began to talk of William she lost her shyness, and her voice became animated as she spoke of the foreign stations he had been on; but such was her tenderness that she could not mention the number of years he had been absent without tears in her eyes.

Miss Crawford civilly wished him an early promotion, and a thought occurred to me.

‘Do you know anything of my cousin’s captain? Captain Marshal? You have a large acquaintance in the Navy, I conclude? ’ I asked her, thinking that perhaps something might be done to help William.

‘Among admirals, large enough, for my uncle, as you know, is Admiral Crawford; but we know very little of the inferior ranks,’ she said. ‘Of various admirals I could tell you a great deal: of them and their flags, and the gradation of their pay, and their bickerings and jealousies. But, in general, I can assure you that they are all passed over, and all very ill used.’

Again I was surprised and unsettled by her lack of respect for her uncle and his friends, and I replied with something or nothing, saying, ‘It is a noble profession,’ and the subject soon dropped.

A happier one ensued, and before long we were talking of the improvements to Sotherton again. Crawford’s opinion was sought, as he has done much to improve his own estate, and the long and the short of it is that we are all to make a trip to Sotherton, so that we can give our opinions as to what should be done with the park.

Friday 22 July

I found that Miss Crawford’s remarks about her uncle preyed on my mind and I decided to consult Fanny, for I knew I could rely on her judgment. I repaired to her sitting-room at the top of the house and tapped on the door. A gentle ‘Come in’ bid me enter, and I was soon inside the room. I felt better the moment I stepped over the threshold. Everything about the room spoke of Fanny’s personality: the three transparencies glowing in the window, showing the unlikely juxtaposition of Tintern Abbey, a cave in Italy and a moonlight lake in Cumberland; the family profiles hanging over the mantelpiece; the geraniums and the books; the writing desk; the works of charity; and the sketch of HMS Antwerp, done for her by William, pinned against the wall. I believe there is scarcely a room in the house with so much character or so much warmth.

‘Well, Fanny, and how do you like Miss Crawford now?’ I asked her as I took a seat.

‘Very well,’ she said with a smile. ‘Very much. I like to hear her talk. She entertains me; and she is so extremely pretty, that I have great pleasure in looking at her.’

‘She has a wonderful play of feature!’ I agreed, lost, for the moment, in remembrance of her beauty. But then I returned to my reason for coming. ‘Was there nothing in her conversation that struck you, Fanny, as not quite right?’

‘Oh yes!’ she said at once, as though reading my mind. ‘She ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she did.’

I knew she would see it and I let out a sigh as I was reassured that I had not been wrong. But when Fanny went on to speak of Miss Crawford as ungrateful I had to defend her, saying,

‘Ungrateful is a strong word. She is awkwardly circumstanced. With such warm feelings and lively spirits it must be difficult to do justice to her affection for her departed aunt, without throwing a shade on the admiral.’

‘Do not you think,’ said Fanny, after a little consideration, ‘that this impropriety is a reflection upon that aunt, as her niece has been entirely brought up by her?’

At this, I was struck anew by Fanny’s intelligence, for that was undoubtedly the case: Miss Crawford’s faults were not her own, they were the faults of her upbringing.

‘Her present home must do her good,’ I said, much relieved. ‘Mrs. Grant’s manners are just what they ought to be. I am glad you saw it all as I did, Fanny. No doubt, before long, Miss Crawford will see it all as we do, too.’

Having eased my feelings, I spent the afternoon seeing to estate business, but I could not keep my mind on my work, for it kept drifting back to Mary Crawford. She is the kind of woman I most admire, with a slight figure, dainty and elegant, and just the sort of features I love to look at. She has sense and cleverness and quickness of spirits. She is in every way an addition to Mansfield Park.

Saturday 23 July

The harp has arrived, and after dinner at the rectory, Miss Crawford took her place at the instrument. Beyond her was the window, cut down to the ground, and through it I could see the little lawn surrounded by shrubs. Clad in the rich foliage of summer the garden made a striking contrast with her white silk gown and set her off to great advantage. I was surprised at Crawford, who whispered to my sister Maria throughout the recital, for the music was excellent, and I could scarce take my eyes away from Miss Crawford as she played.

‘You are an avid listener, Mr. Bertram,’ she said, as she stood up at last. ‘I do not believe I have ever had a more attentive audience.’

I thought fleetingly of Tom’s ease with women and the kind of clever reply he would have made, but I was not adept at teasing phrases and I could only assure her of my great pleasure in listening to her. It seemed to satisfy her, however, for she smiled at me, and I felt myself drawn to her even more.

The sandwich tray was brought in and Dr Grant did the honors. Even this simple activity seemed full of interest tonight and the time passed so quickly that I could scarcely believe it when it was time to leave.

I thanked Miss Crawford and she said that I must come again. Mrs. Grant echoed her invitation and I accepted with pleasure.

What a summer this is turning out to be!

Monday 25 July

It has always been Miss Crawford’s habit to take a stroll in the evenings and it has now become a regular thing that we all walk out together. My work about the estate is being left to others, and I am spending less time with my family, but I cannot help myself. Miss Crawford is so agreeable that I cannot tear myself away.

Saturday 30 July

‘I saw you ride past my window this morning,’ said Miss Crawford to my sisters as she and her family joined us at the Park for dinner. ‘How I envied you your exercise.’

‘You must come with us,’ said Maria.

‘It would do no good, for I cannot ride.’

‘Cannot ride?’

The idea was startling.

‘Then you must learn,’ said Maria.

‘Alas, I have no horse,’ she said ruefully.

‘Then you must borrow one of ours.’

‘Indeed you must,’ I pressed her. ‘I have just the animal, a quiet mare who is perfect for beginners.’

‘What if I am frightened?’ she asked, glancing at me teasingly, so that I could not tell whether she meant it or not, for her temperament is so different from my own that half the time I do not know how to understand her.

‘There is no need,’ I said, taking her at her word. ‘She is the quietest creature imaginable. I bought her for Fanny when the grey pony died.’

‘In that case I must decline,’ she protested. ‘I cannot think of taking Miss Price’s mare from her. It would be very wrong.’

‘There would be no question of that. If Fanny does not object, it would only mean taking the mare down to the Parsonage half an hour before your ride, well before Fanny usually goes out, and you may both have your exercise.’

Fanny said at once that she did not mind at all.

‘Then I will bring the mare down to the Parsonage tomorrow, ’ I said.

‘And will you instruct me?’ Miss Crawford asked me.

‘If you wish.’

‘I do wish. I will feel safer with you there, for I am sure you will be able to teach me how to go on, you are such an experienced horseman. I should have learned before this; Henry was always trying to teach me; but somehow I never had the urge before now.’

‘Then we must not disappoint you. I will be at the Parsonage early with the groom.’

Her face fell.

‘I have no habit,’ she said.

‘That is nothing,’ said Mrs. Grant, ‘you may borrow one of mine until you can have one made. You will want something in a newer style eventually, but mine will serve you for the present.’

As the ladies continued to talk of their habits, I found myself looking forward to the morrow with an eagerness I have not felt since I was a boy.

Sunday 31 July

I set out after church for the Parsonage, rejoicing in the day. It was calm and serene, with just enough cloud to prevent it being too hot, and a welcome breeze. Miss Crawford was waiting for me, attired in Mrs. Grant’s habit.

‘You must excuse my dress,’ she said drolly, glancing at the yards of material that trailed on the floor behind her. ‘My sister is inches taller than I am.’

Tom would have thought of a compliment, but such things do not spring easily to my mind. Instead I told her that her habit would do very well and helped her to mount. She was almost as light as Fanny, and with my hands round her waist she was soon sitting on the mare. She looked nervous to find herself so far off the ground, but I reassured her, and she laughed at her fears and was soon restored to her usual humor. I gave her instructions on how to sit, and how to hold the reins, and everything else necessary for her to begin, and then told her how to walk forwards, which she did with surprising grace.

‘If I had known it was so enjoyable I would have learnt to ride long ago,’ she said, as her confidence grew, ‘though I suppose with riding, as with everything else, it is the company that determines the enjoyment.’

She cast me a smiling glance and I felt that she had read my mind, for it was her company that was making the day so enjoyable for me.

After half an hour I felt she had had enough and she reluctantly dismounted.

‘You seem formed for a horsewoman,’ I said to her as I escorted her back into the Parsonage.

‘And for a musician,’ she said, glancing at the harp. ‘If you will but give me a moment to change out of my habit, I will play for you.’

‘I should be getting back to the house. Fanny will be wanting her mare.’

‘Cannot the groom take her back? I feel I cannot let you go without a reward for your efforts. Do not make me shame myself by taking so much from you without giving you something in return.’

I could not resist her and, having instructed the groom to take the mare back to the Park, I awaited her in the sitting-room. Mrs. Grant sat with me whilst I waited, telling me how pleased she was with her brother and sister, and before long Miss Crawford returned, to entertain me with her playing. I do not know whether it was the liquid notes of the harp or the graceful movement of her white arms across the strings that enthralled me most but I was held captive, and I felt that I had never spent a pleasanter morning in my life.