Edmund Bertram's Diary

AUGUST

Monday 4 August

Nanny set out this morning to fetch Fanny Price. Maria and Julia spent the day wondering about her appearance and her clothes and about her ability to speak French. Tom teased them, saying they were afraid she might be prettier and cleverer than they were, and they could settle to nothing all afternoon, plaguing the life out of Pug, until Mama finally roused herself and sent them up to the nursery.

Tuesday 5 August

Papa spoke to Tom and me at some length this afternoon, telling us that we must make Fanny welcome, but that some distinction of rank must be preserved.

‘You will see little of her, being away at school, but I would have you treat her with kindness and respect when you are here. And yet it would be wrong of you, or indeed any of us, to lead her to suppose she will have the same kind of future as Maria and Julia, for they are a baronet’s daughters, and will have a handsome dowry when the time comes for them to marry. Encourage Fanny to be useful and respectful. Praise her for her modesty and virtue, and show her by your manner that anything else is unbecoming in a little girl.’

We gave him our word, and Tom began to run as soon as we were out of the study.

‘Lord, I thought he would never finish! If we are not quick, the sun will have gone in and we will not get our swim.’

We went into the woods and dived into the pool. The water was bracing and full of weed, but we swam for an hour, for all that.

‘When I am Sir Thomas I will have the pool cleaned,’ said Tom grandly. ‘I will rid it of all this weed so that we may swim without becoming entangled in it.’

‘That will not be for many years, God willing,’ I said, ‘for Papa will have to die before you can become Sir Thomas.’

He laughed at me.

‘You are a good fellow, Edmund, but you take the lightest words so seriously. If you want to know what to do with your time when you are a man, you should go into the church. It will suit your serious nature.’

‘I might at that.’

‘If you do, have pity on me, and keep the prayers short. My knees were aching last Sunday.’

The rain began to fall and we retreated inside. Washed and dressed, I went downstairs. Mama was on the sofa, playing with Pug. Aunt Norris was telling Maria that her new hairstyle was very becoming, and that she would have a string of suitors when she was older; Julia was asking if she would have a string of suitors, too; and Tom was lounging on the chaise-longue, laughing at them.

Wednesday 6 August

Our visitor has arrived, and a small, frightened thing she is. I can scarcely believe she is ten years old; she looks closer to seven. Her eyes are large and her face thin; in fact, she is thin altogether. Her mother says she is delicate, and Papa has told us to be gentle with her. I believe such a child would provoke gentleness in anyone. She quaked whenever she was spoken to, and looked as though she wished to be anywhere but in the drawing-room. Papa was very stately in his welcome to her, and I believe his manner frightened her, though his words were kind. Mama’s smiles seemed to reassure her, and Maria and Julia, awed into their best behavior by Papa, added their welcome.

‘She is a very lucky girl,’ said Aunt Norris. ‘What wonderful fortune she has had, to be noticed by her uncle, and brought to Mansfield Park. It is not every child who is so lucky. You will be a good girl, I am sure, Fanny, and will not make us regret the day we brought you here. You must be on your best behaviour, if you please.’

Mama invited her to sit on the sofa next to Pug, and Tom, in an effort to cheer her, goodnaturedly gave her a gooseberry tart. She thanked him timidly and tried to eat it through her sobs, until Nanny rescued her, saying she was tired from her long journey, and took her up to the nursery.

Thursday 7 August

Maria and Julia were given a holiday so that they could get to know Fanny better, but they soon tired of her, remarking disdainfully, ‘She has but two sashes, and she has never learnt French.’

I saw her standing in the middle of the hall this afternoon looking lost and I asked her what she was doing. She blushed and clasped her hands and said that Aunt Norris had sent her to fetch her shawl from the morning-room, but that she did not know where it was. I undertook to show her the way, and said kindly, ‘What a little thing you are,’ but this seemed to make her more anxious so I made no further comments on her size. Once she had found the shawl I watched her until she disappeared safely into the drawing-room.

‘She looks at me as though I am a monster,’ said Tom when I mentioned it to him later. ‘I found her in the drawing-room this morning and asked her how she did. She did not reply, so I told her not to be shy, and she blushed to the roots of her hair.’

He suggested we go fishing, and we took our rods down to the river, where we caught several fish which were served up at dinner with a butter sauce.

Friday 8 August

Aunt Norris is very pleased with her protégée and after dinner, when Fanny had left the drawing-room, Mama and Papa remarked that Fanny seemed a helpful child who was sensible of her good fortune. Maria and Julia pulled faces at each other at the mention of Fanny, but said nothing more than that she seemed very small and always had the sniffles. I could not blame them, for she does always seem to be ill, poor child.

Wednesday 13 August

Tom and I rode out early, basking in the warmth. The dew was on the grass and all nature seemed to be waiting expectantly for the day to begin. Tom laughed when I said as much, and said I should become a poet.

We made a hearty breakfast and then he rode into town whilst I returned to my room. As I did so, I heard a strange sound, and I realized that it was sobbing. I followed it, to find our little newcomer sitting crying on the attic stairs.

‘What can be the matter?’ I asked her, sitting down next to her and wondering how to comfort her, for she looked very woebegone.

She turned a fiery red at being found in such a condition, but I soothed her and begged her to tell me what was wrong.

‘Are you ill?’ I asked her, for to tell the truth, she did not look well. She shook her head.

‘Have you quarreled with Maria or Julia?’ I asked, wondering if they had upset her.

‘No, no not at all,’ she whispered.

‘Is there anything I can get you to comfort you?’

She shook her head again. I thought for a moment and then asked, ‘If you were crying at home, what would you do to make yourself feel better?’

At the mention of home, her tears broke out anew, and it was easy to see where her sorrow lay.

‘You are sorry to leave your mama, my dear little Fanny, which shows you to be a very good girl,’ I said kindly. ‘But you must remember that you are with relations and friends, who all love you, and wish to make you happy. Let us walk out in the park and you shall tell me all about your brothers and sisters.’

I took her by the hand and led her outside, for the morning was such as to cheer anyone. The sky was blue and soft breezes were blowing across the meadows. I heard about Susan, Tom, Sam and the new baby, but most of all I heard about William.

‘How old is William?’ I asked her.

‘Eleven,’ she told me, with the awe that only a ten-year-old can muster for such an advanced age.

It was with William she played, William who was her confidant, William who interceded with her mother on her behalf when needed, for he was clearly a favorite with Mrs. Price.

‘William did not like I should come away; he said he should miss me very much indeed,’ she said with a sob.

I handed her my handkerchief and persuaded her to take it, for her own was wet through.

‘Never fear, he will write to you, I dare say,’ I reassured her.

‘Yes, he promised he would, but he told me I must write first.’

I soon discovered that this was the cause of her tears, for she had been longing to write to him since her arrival but she had no paper.

I took her into the breakfast-room so that she could send a letter at once, but as soon as I had furnished her with everything necessary, a fresh worry raised its head and she was afraid it might not go to the post.

‘Depend upon me it shall : it shall go with the other letters, ’ I told her, ‘and, as your uncle will frank it, it will cost William nothing.’

The idea of my father franking it frightened her, as though such an august personage should not be expected to help her, but I reassured her and at last she was easy.

‘Now, let us begin,’ I said.

I ruled the lines for her and then sat by her whilst she wrote her letter. I believe that no brother can have ever received a better one, for although it was not always rightly spelt, it was written with great feeling.

When she had finished, I added my best wishes to her letter and enclosed half a guinea under the seal for her brother. The look of gratitude she turned on me was enough to reward me ten times over for my small trouble, and I began to feel that she was a very sweet little thing, with an affectionate heart. I took some trouble to talk to her and discovered that she had a strong desire of doing right, as well as an awe of Maria and Julia.

‘You must not be afraid of them,’ I said to her. ‘They are only further ahead than you because they have had a governess, whilst you have not, but life is not all French and geography, you know. It is fun and games as well. You must remember to play with my sisters, and to enjoy yourself. We all of us want you to be happy, and you will oblige us greatly if you can manage it. will you try?’

She nodded timidly.

‘Good.’ I saw my sisters on the lawn. ‘Look! They are out in the garden. The sun is shining, it is a beautiful day. You should go out and join them.’

She dried the last of her tears, looked at me for reassurance, then slipped off her chair and went over to the door. She turned back, and when she saw that I was watching her kindly, she smiled and waved, then ran outside. I saw her emerge on to the lawn and approach Maria and Julia. Maria looked about to rebuff her but when she saw me watching she held out her hand to Fanny. Fanny went to her shyly, and before long the three of them were playing together. I thought she might like some books to read when she returned to her room, so I chose some from the library for her, and then I walked over to John Saddlers to see about some new harness for Oberon.

Friday 15 August

Tom and I went into town this morning. I had some commissions to undertake for Mama and Aunt Norris, and some books to buy for myself, whilst Tom wanted to look at another horse.

‘Not to persuade Papa to buy, just to look at,’ he told me.

We met at the inn for luncheon and he refused to tell me about his parcels, but when we returned home, all was made clear. After dinner, he gave a new shawl each to Maria, Julia and Fanny, with all the liberality of a future baronet. Maria wished hers had been blue, and Julia coveted Maria’s, which, however much she said she disliked it, she would not exchange, whilst Fanny was too overcome to speak. When she could at last thank him, she stumbled over her words and then went bright red, before escaping to the nursery with her treasure.

‘She is a funny little thing,’ said Tom, as the door closed behind her.

‘She seems a pleasant child,’ said Mama, stroking Pug behind the ears and adding, ‘does she not, Pug?’

‘She is prodigiously stupid,’ said Maria complacently. ‘Only think, she cannot put the map of Europe together. Did you ever hear anything so stupid?’

Aunt Norris shook her head.

‘My dear, it is very bad, but you must not expect everybody to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself.’

‘Hah!’ said Tom, but Maria ignored him.

‘I am sure I should be ashamed of myself to know so little, ’ said Julia. ‘I cannot remember the time when I did not know a great deal that she has not the least notion of yet. How long ago it is, Aunt, since we used to repeat the chronological order of the kings of England, with the dates of their accession, and most of the principal events of their reigns!’

‘Very true indeed, my dears, but you are blessed with wonderful memories, and your poor cousin has probably none at all.’

‘But I must tell you another thing of Fanny, so odd and so stupid,’ said Maria. ‘Do you know, she says she does not want to learn either music or drawing.’

‘To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows a great want of genius and emulation,’ returned Aunt Norris. ‘But, all things considered, I do not know whether it is not as well that it should be so, for, though you know (owing to me) your Papa and Mama are so good as to bring her up with you, it is not at all necessary that she should be as accomplished as you are. On the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be a difference.’

‘I believe Fanny will like music and drawing well enough once she knows more about them,’ I said, unwilling to have Maria and Julia encouraged to slight her. ‘She has not had a chance to study them so far, that is all, and so she does not yet understand their worth. Do you not think so?’ I asked Mama.

‘You must ask your father, Edmund. He will know. See what Sir Thomas thinks,’ returned Mama placidly.

I was disheartened, as I had hoped she would join her voice to mine, but at least my words curbed my sisters’ contempt enough to make them conceal it from Fanny. I would not like to find her in tears again, for she is so small and thin she looks as though she could hardly stand it. Tom was an unexpected ally, for he said he saw no harm in her and he was sure she would grow up to be perfectly charming, then teased Maria and Julia by saying that they should emulate Fanny’s gratitude, or he would not bring them any more presents.

Monday 18 August

We heard this morning that the rector of Thornton Lacey had died. Papa called me into his study and gave me the news, then told me that he intended to give the living to Mr. Arnold, who will hold it for me until I am of an age to take it myself, if I so wish. He asked me if I had given any more thought to my future, and I confessed that I had not.

‘No matter. The living of Thornton Lacey will be held for you anyway and you may take it or not as you please when you are older. It is not the best living in my gift, for that, of course, is Mansfield, but in the fullness of time, that, too, will belong to you. Now, tell me of your studies, and of what you like to do.’

He listened as I told him about my progress at school, and asked me several judicious questions, and then I was free to go.

I went out to the stables and found Tom. Before long, we were riding out towards the woods.

‘So Papa was asking you about your choice of profession? I am glad I do not have to make any similar decisions, for I would have no idea what to do if I could not run riot with my friends. I wish Jarvey were here, though perhaps it is better he is not, for he is always wanting to be doing something, and today it is too hot to do anything more than ride in the shade and dream of pretty girls.’

We went home with a hearty appetite and I finished my dinner with three slices of apple tart. Julia called me greedy, but Aunt Norris said that Tom and I were growing boys and that she liked to see a healthy appetite.

Thursday 21 August

I was walking through the park this afternoon when I saw little Fanny returning from the rectory with a large basket. It was far too heavy for a girl of her size and strength, for she was leaning over to one side in an effort to balance the weight, and she was perspiring profusely. Her breathing was shallow as I approached her, and I was concerned for her health.

‘Here,’ I said, taking her basket, ‘you must let me carry that. Whatever possessed you to go out in such heat, without a hat, and to carry such a heavy load?’

‘Mrs. Norris wanted her work basket and had left it at the rectory,’ she said timidly.

‘You should not have offered to fetch it for her. You are not strong enough,’ I said. She looked awkward, and I guessed that she had not offered, but that my aunt had sent her.

‘Let us sit awhile,’ I said. ‘It is cool under the trees. You may catch your breath, and then we will return to the house together.’

I spread out my coat for her, and bade her sit down. I was about to ask her about William when she surprised me by reciting:

The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade

And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade.

‘You have read the Cowper I gave you,’ I said, much struck, for, although I had defended her at the time, I had been guilty of believing my sisters when they said that she was stupid.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I read it every night.’

‘You seem to be a very devoted student, little Fanny,’ I said with a smile. She gave a tentative smile, too, but this time it was with pleasure. I talked to her about the things she had read, and found an intelligent mind beneath her timidity. When she was ready to go on I walked slowly beside her, and took her into the library.

‘Aunt Norris...’ she said.

‘A few minutes more will not make any difference.’

I talked to her about what she liked to read and helped her to choose some books, then I accompanied her into the drawing-room, so that I could turn aside the worst of my aunt’s ill humor. I appealed to my mother, who said that Fanny must not be sent out without a hat in such heat again, and received a look of grateful thanks from my little friend. Tom was lounging on the sofa, and he suggested we go and see Damson’s new puppies.

‘Though you do not need one,’ he remarked, as we left the drawing-room, ‘for I am sure it will not follow you around as adoringly as Fanny, nor come so readily when you call.’

I smiled, and he teased me some more, and told me that if I decided against being a clergyman or a poet, I would make a very good governess.

Friday 29 August

The candles were brought in earlier today, and it made me realize that summer is drawing to its end. Soon it will be time to go back to school. I would rather stay here at Mansfield Park. I confided my feelings to Fanny when we walked together in the grounds, as has become our custom after breakfast, and then I was surprised I had done so. But there is something comfortable about the patter of her little feet next to mine, and something indefinably sweet about her nature that seems to invite confidences. She told me that she would rather I remained at home as well, then looked surprised at her own courage in speaking. I could not help but smile.

‘I will miss my shadow when I have gone,’ I said.

I asked her about her reading and found that she had read the books I recommended, and that she had committed a surprising amount of verse to heart. She is an apt pupil, and I think it will not be long before she ceases to draw down my sisters’ contempt for her lack of learning. I spoke to both Maria and Julia today, telling them they must be kind to her when I am away, and I have wrung a promise from them that they will protect her from the worst of Aunt Norris’s attention. My aunt is very good, but I believe she does not realize how young Fanny is, or how easily wounded. A harsh word, to Fanny, is a terrible thing. And then she is so delicate. She tires quickly and is prone to coughs and colds. I hope the shawl Tom bought her will be enough to protect against winter’s draughts.

Tom was morose when I mentioned that we would soon be back at school, but then he brightened.

‘Only one more year, Edmund,’ he said. ‘Only one more, and then I will be up at Oxford. And in two years we will be there together.’