Edmund Bertram's Diary

1809 JANUARY

Thursday 5 January

‘Your sister Maria is newly married, I understand?’ said Mrs. Owen, as I walked through the village 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 called them to such a marriage, but I confess I would rather see them married to clergymen. They would make such good clergymen’s wives, all 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 will 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 will be, one day,’ she said. ‘I hope you may find a pretty and useful wife to support you, a young woman who will bring gladness to your life, and turn your Parsonage into a home. There is more to life than work, however noble the calling 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 fallen behind the others, we will 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 telling 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 village 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 still 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 calling; and that true friendship, and more than friendship, outweighed all 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 all the Mansfield news. I was hoping, too, to hear why Miss Crawford and her brother were still in the neighborhood.

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

It was the best possible news for Fanny, and her looks spoke her happiness. I forestalled my aunt, who would have given me every particular, by asking Fanny to tell me all about it, and I soon learned that William 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. ‘William 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 William 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 excellent 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 heart felt — 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 well, Edmund. It would be an excellent 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 all seem to like him. And yet she has still 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 will be well provided for, and I am persuaded she will 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 all, and I honor her for it. She could do nothing else. But now that she has been alerted to his preference she will 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 well as his kindness, his friendship and his affection.’

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

‘Yes, it will. She will go from being our quiet, shy Fanny, to being the centre of attention, but I am sure she will come round. Indeed, I think it must be so. Crawford has been too precipitate, that is all. 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 will all 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 all 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 William. 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 will 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 William.

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

She brightened.

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

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

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

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

She talked on happily, looking forward to the day when she will 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 followed 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, will 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 chimney piece.’

I saw at once what he meant. The grate was a good size, and it would repay framing. An ornate chimney piece 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 tell 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 all 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 called, and my father had invited him to stay for dinner. I wished he had brought his sister with him, but thought that, after all, 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 really 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 allowed to finish the reading. He began, and read so well that Fanny listened with great pleasure, gradually letting her needlework fall 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.

She picked up her needlework again with a blush, but I could not wonder at Crawford for thinking he had some hope. She had certainly been enraptured by him and I thought that if he could win half so much attention from her in ordinary life he would be a fortunate man. I admired him for persevering, for it showed that he knew Fanny’s value, and knew that she was worth any extra effort he might have to make to overcome her reserve. And I could understand why he would not give her up, for as her needle flashed through her work, her gentleness was matched by her prettiness.

‘That play must be a favorite with you,’ I said to Crawford. ‘You read as if you knew it well.’

‘It will be a favorite, I believe, from this hour,’ he replied. ‘But I do not think I have had a volume of Shakespeare in my hand before since I was fifteen. But Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how. It is a part of an Englishman’s constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct.’

‘To know him in bits and scraps is common enough; to know him pretty thoroughly is, perhaps, not uncommon; but to read him well aloud is no everyday talent.’

‘Sir, you do me honor,’ said Crawford, with a bow of mock gravity.

‘You have a great turn for acting, I am sure, Mr. Crawford,’ said Mama soon afterwards; ‘and I will tell you what, I think you will have a theatre, some time or other, at your house in Norfolk. I mean when you are settled there. I do indeed. I think you will fit up a theatre at your house in Norfolk.’

‘Do you, ma’am? No, no, that will never be,’ Crawford assured her. I was surprised, for if the plays were well chosen, there could be no objection to Crawford setting up a theatre. He had a good income and was entitled to do with it, and his own home, as he wished. It would certainly give him an outlet for his talents, which were of no common sort in that direction.

Fanny said nothing but I am sure she must have guessed that Crawford’s avowal never to have a theatre must be a compliment to her feelings. She had made them known at the time of our disastrous theatrical affair and I was pleased that Crawford was willing to make such a sacrifice. It boded well for Fanny’s future happiness that he put her own wishes above his own. I asked Crawford where he had learnt to read aloud so well and Fanny listened intently to our discussion. I mentioned that it was not taught as it should be, and Crawford agreed.

‘In my profession it is little studied,’ I said, ‘but a good sermon needs a good delivery and I am glad my father made me read aloud as a boy, so that I could develop a clear and varied speaking voice.’

Crawford asked me about the service I had already performed and Fanny listened avidly. I admired Crawford, for he had found the way to her heart. She was not to be won by gallantry and wit, but by sentiment and feeling, and seriousness on serious subjects; something of which he showed himself eminently capable.

I drew away after a time, giving the two of them some time alone. I took up a newspaper, hoping that Fanny would be persuaded to talk to her lover, and I gave them my own murmurs: ‘A most desirable Estate in South Wales’; ‘To Parents and Guardians’; and a ‘Capital season’d Hunter’ to cover their own.

It did not seem to go well, from what I heard, for Fanny seemed to be berating Crawford for inconstancy, and though I tried not to listen I could not help their words reaching me.

‘You think me unsteady: easily swayed by the whim of the moment, easily tempted, easily put aside,’ I heard Crawford say. ‘With such an opinion, no wonder that... But we shall see. It is not by protestations that I shall endeavor to convince you I am wronged; it is not by telling you that my affections are steady. My conduct shall speak for me; absence, distance, time shall speak for me. They shall prove that, as far as you can be deserved by anybody, I do deserve you. You are infinitely my superior in merit; all that I know. You have qualities which I had not before supposed to exist in such a degree in any human creature. You have some touches of the angel in you beyond what — not merely beyond what one sees, because one never sees anything like it — but beyond what one fancies might be. But still I am not frightened. It is not by equality of merit that you can be won. That is out of the question. It is he who sees and worships your merit the strongest, who loves you most devotedly, that has the best right to a return.’

I was surprised to hear such ardor, and was just beginning to be uncomfortable at overhearing it when Baddeley brought in the tea. Crawford was obliged to move and I returned to the group. Fanny said no more but I felt she could not have been unmoved by Crawford’s protestations. I was expecting her to speak to me when he left but she kept silent. I did not ask her about him, for I did not want to press her. But as I have always been her confidant, I hope she will turn to me when she feels she needs someone to talk to.

Thursday 12 January

As I dressed this morning, I found myself wondering what Mary thought of her brother’s feelings for Fanny. I knew she was fond of Fanny, but I also knew that she had a high regard for wealth and distinction, and I thought she might feel that Henry should unite himself to both. I rode over to Thornton Lacey and found that the work was going on apace. There was already a difference in the size of the farmyard and Jackson was at work on the door. The fine weather was helpful, and I went round to the stables to ascertain whether there would be room to keep my horses as well as a mount for Mary. There would, perhaps, be enough room but I felt it would be better to extend the stables, something which could be easily done, and I spoke to Jackson about it before leaving.

Returning to Mansfield Park, I found myself wondering again about Mary’s view on her brother’s choice of bride. We were dining at the Parsonage, and I resolved to broach the subject, but in the event there was no need, for she began to speak of it herself not five minutes after I had arrived.

‘Well, Mr. Bertram, and what do you think of my brother and Miss Price?’ she asked. Mrs. Grant laughed at her for her rapidity, saying, ‘Mary, give Mr. Bertram time to sit down, at least!’

‘But I want to know,’ she said.

‘I confess I was surprised,’ I returned.

‘Were you? I was not. I have been seeing his attachment for some time, and seeing it with pleasure. There is not a better girl in all the world than Fanny Price. Her gentleness and gratitude are of no common stamp, and I am glad that Henry has seen it. She has nothing of ambition in her, and she is the only woman I have ever met who would not be swayed by Henry’s fortune and his estate. Only love will do for Fanny Price.’

‘There you are right,’ I said.

‘Such a beautiful girl,’ said Mrs. Grant. ‘Henry has been full of her charms. Her face and figure, her graces of manner and goodness of heart are exhaustless themes with him. He talks of nothing else.’

‘Unless it be her temper, which he has good reason to depend on and praise. He has often seen it tried, for Mrs. Norris is unstinting in her criticisms, and yet Fanny never answers her sharply,’ said Mary.

‘No, indeed, I have never heard her speak a word of complaint, ’ said Mrs. Grant.

‘She is sometimes too forbearing, and needs a champion,’ I said.

‘Oh! Henry will champion her, should there ever be a need, but why will there be, when he takes her away to her own home? There will be no aunt there to criticize her, only a husband who loves her, and a staff whose business it will be to make sure she is comfortable in every way. There is only one fault I have to find in her, and that is that she has refused Henry. For that I am very angry with her!’

But she said it with a laugh in her voice and a sparkle in her eye, so that I knew she was only teasing.

‘He has taken her by surprise,’ said Mrs. Grant wisely. ‘Such a quiet, unassuming girl, would be overwhelmed at so sudden a proposal. But let her get used to the idea, and she will soon give him the answer he deserves. Her affections, once they take hold, are strong. We have seen it with her brother.’

‘Yes, she loves William as no girl has ever loved a brother before,’ said Mary with delight. ‘It is sweetness itself to see them together.’

‘There she owes your brother a great debt,’ I said. ‘It was very good of him to take William to see the Admiral.’

‘He thinks nothing of it,’ said Mary. ‘He was glad to do everything in his power to assist William, because he knew that, by assisting William, he was pleasing the woman he loves.’

‘And her understanding is so good,’ said Mrs. Grant.

‘It is beyond everything, quick and clear,’ said Mary.

I was heartened by her words, for they showed she had the goodness I had always expected her of, for how else would she be able to value Fanny’s true worth?

‘Such steadiness and regularity of conduct, such a high notion of honor, and such an observance of decorum—’

‘Any man might depend on her faith and integrity. He will be able to absolutely confide in her,’ said Mary.

‘It was a happy day, indeed, when he met her,’ said Mrs. Grant.

‘They will do each other good. Fanny cannot fail to do Henry good, and he will give her the consequence she deserves. She will feel it every day, every hour, in the way people approach her and speak to her. And he will make her happy. There is no woman Henry cannot fail to please, if he sets his mind to it, and he is certain to set his mind to pleasing the woman he loves. He has already done it. Fanny’s happiness is his only thought.’

‘Ay, so much so that he talks of renting a house round here, so that he need not take her from everything she knows,’ said Mrs. Grant. ‘He means to let Everingham and rent a place in this neighborhood — perhaps Stanwix Lodge.’

‘Settle in Northamptonshire?’ I asked, much pleased. ‘That will be a very good idea.’

‘Yes, is it not pleasant?’ said Mary. ‘Then we shall all be together.’

The look she gave me with this encouraged me more than I can say. We shall all be together. My heart leapt at the thought that she wanted us all to be together as much as I did. Henry and Fanny, and Mary and I.

As I returned home at last, I resolved to put my hopes to the test. As soon as Thornton Lacey is ready to receive a mistress, and as soon as I have settled my affairs so that I know exactly what I am able to offer her, I will ask her to be my wife.

Friday 13 January

I was at Thornton Lacey early this morning, and rode round the grounds, reining in my horse at the southern edge and looking over the adjacent fields. If I can persuade Robert Ingles to sell them to me I can improve the living and increase my income. Having examined them, I returned to Mansfield Park and talked over the idea with my father.

‘An excellent notion,’ he said. ‘Thornton Lacey is capable of a good deal of improvement in the right hands, and I will help you in any way I can.’

He hesitated, and I said, ‘You wish to talk to me about something? About Fanny?’

He nodded.

‘I wish you would have a word with her, Edmund. Crawford talks of constancy, but he is going away in a few days’ time, and I think it is best not to try him too far.’

‘If he knows Fanny’s true worth — and I think that he does — he will not forget her,’ I reassured him, for I did not feel it was in Crawford’s feelings that the obstacle lay.

‘Well, it may be as you say, but I would like some indication of her present feelings. I cannot advise or guide her if I do not know her mind or her heart.’

‘I have been thinking the same thing. I will take the first opportunity of speaking to her alone. The time has come for me to find out what she truly thinks and feels.’

‘Good. She is walking through the shrubbery at the moment. I saw her from the window not five minutes ago.’

‘Then I will join her.’

I donned my coat and a very few minutes took me outside.

‘I am come to walk with you, Fanny,’ I said. I drew her arm through mine companionably, but I was disturbed to find that she did not lean against me, as was her custom. ‘It is a long while since we have had a comfortable walk together, you and I.’

She agreed to this by look rather than word and I could tell by her silence that her spirits were low. My heart felt for her.

‘I know you have something on your mind,’ I said gently.

‘Am I to hear of it from everybody but Fanny herself?’

She sounded dejected. ‘If you hear of it from everybody, cousin, there can be nothing for me to tell.’

‘Not of facts, perhaps; but of feelings, Fanny. No one but you can tell me them. I do not mean to press you. If it is not what you wish yourself, I have done,’ I said, adding only, by way of encouragement, ‘I had thought it might be a relief.’

‘I am afraid we think too differently for me to find any relief in talking of what I feel,’ she said quietly.

‘Do you suppose that we think differently?’ I asked in surprise. ‘I dare say, that on a comparison of our opinions, they would be found as much alike as they had been used to be. I consider Crawford’s proposals as most advantageous and desirable, if you could return his affection. I consider it as most natural that all your family should wish you could return it; but that, as you cannot, you have done exactly as you ought in refusing him. Can there be any disagreement between us here?’

‘Oh no!’ she cried in relief. ‘But I thought you blamed me! I thought you were against me. This is such a comfort!’

I pulled her arm further through mine and was relieved and reassured to feel her lean on me.

‘How could you possibly suppose me against you?’ I asked her softly.

‘My uncle thought me wrong, and I knew he had been talking to you.’

‘As far as you have gone, Fanny, I think you perfectly right. Can it admit of a question? It is disgraceful to us if it does. If you did not love Crawford, nothing could have justified your accepting him.’

She gave a sigh, and as I heard all her worries rushing out of her I was glad I had brought her such comfort. How unhappy she must have been, thinking we were all against her. But once she was more comfortable I felt I must show her the advantages of Crawford’s offer, for I did not want her to grow old regretting the chance she had thrown away in her youth. Crawford was offering her love and affection; her own establishment; and all the joys of a rich and varied life.

‘Crawford’s is no common attachment,’ I said gently, as we walked on together, feeling the sun on our faces and crunching the frost beneath our feet. ‘He perseveres with the hope of creating that regard which had not been created before. This, we know, must be a work of time. But let him succeed at last, Fanny,’ I said, for I felt sure she only needed a little encouragement to welcome his attentions, and that, as Mrs. Crawford, she would be a happy woman. I was astonished when she burst out, ‘Oh! never, never, never! he never will succeed with me.’

‘Never, Fanny?’ I asked, surprised into adding, ‘This is not like yourself, your rational self.’

‘I mean, that I think I never shall,’ she said, controlling her passion. ‘As far as the future can be answered for; I think I never shall return his regard.’

I could not understand why she was so set against him, of leaving the home of her uncle for one of her own — and then all was made clear to me. Fanny’s tender nature had given her a strong attachment to early things, and made her dislike the thought of change or separation. One of the things I had thought of as being in Crawford’s favor was in fact against him, for in gaining a home of her own, she would have to leave behind the home she knew. I wished again that he had taken things more slowly, attaching her to him before speaking of marriage, so that she would have been prepared for his declarations and even wanting them; and, wanting them, she would have been able to face the thought of leaving the securities and pleasures of childhood with composure.

‘I must hope that time, proving him (as I firmly believe it will ) to deserve you by his steady affection, will give him his reward,’ I said.

But she did not enter into my hopes. Quite the reverse. ‘We are so totally unlike,’ she said, ‘we are so very, very different in all our inclinations and ways, that I consider it as quite impossible we should ever be tolerably happy together, even if I could like him. There never were two people more dissimilar. We have not one taste in common. We should be miserable.’

This was bleak indeed. So bleak that I felt fancy was at work, rather than reason.

‘You have both warm hearts and benevolent feelings,’ I pointed out. ‘And, Fanny, who that heard him read, and saw you listen to Shakespeare the other night, will think you unfitted as companions? There is a decided difference in your tempers, I allow. He is lively, you are serious; but so much the better: his spirits will support yours.’

She hesitated, and then said reluctantly, ‘I cannot approve his character. I have not thought well of him from the time of the play. I then saw him behaving so improperly by poor Mr. Rushworth, not seeming to care how he exposed or hurt him, and paying attentions to my cousin Maria, which — in short, at the time of the play, I received an impression which will never be got over.’

I protested at this, but she said, ‘As a bystander, perhaps I saw more than you did; and I do think that Mr. Rushworth was sometimes very jealous. And before the play, I am much mistaken if Julia did not think Mr. Crawford was paying her attentions. ’

‘To be sure, the play did none of us credit, but Fanny, you have lived so retired that you have made too much of Crawford’s lively nature, and my sisters’ desire to be admired. To condemn the behavior of that time is right and just; but to let it destroy your future happiness is folly. He will make you happy, Fanny; I know he will make you happy, and you will make him happy,’ I reassured her.

She looked tired. I did not want to press her further, so I turned the conversation to other things, talking of my time with the Owens.

‘You spent your time pleasantly there?’ asked Fanny, reviving once the subject of Crawford was dropped. ‘The Miss Owens — you liked them, did not you?’

‘Yes, very well. Pleasant, good-humored, unaffected girls. But I am spoilt, Fanny, for common female society. Good-humored, unaffected girls will not do for a man who has been used to sensible women. They are two distinct orders of being. You and Miss Crawford have made me too nice,’ I told her.

She smiled, but it was a tired smile, and I felt she had had enough conversation. So, with the kind authority of a privileged guardian, I led her back into the house.

Saturday 14 January

I spoke to my father after breakfast and told him that I thought we should make no further attempts to persuade Fanny, but that everything should be left to Crawford’s addresses and the passage of time.

‘She must become used to the idea of his being in love with her, and then a return of affection might not be very distant.’

‘It shall be as you say, but I only hope that she might persuade herself into receiving his addresses properly, before his inclination for paying them is over.’

‘He will prove himself steadfast, I am sure,’ I said.

‘I hope so,’ was my father’s only reply.

I was not a little curious to see how Fanny would receive Crawford this evening, and in the event their encounter promised well. He came and sat with us some time, and I saw a softening of Fanny’s face, and a tenderness in her expression that led me to believe all would finally be well.

‘It is a pity your brother has to go to town tomorrow,’ I said to Mary. She followed my eyes towards Fanny and her brother.

‘Yes, it is, but he has promised to escort me to my friend’s house and, having once delayed my visit, I cannot delay it again. And who knows? Absence might prove to be his friend. When she is no longer receiving his attentions, Fanny might come to miss them and welcome their return.’

I thought it only too likely.

‘And tomorrow you are leaving, too,’ I said to her.

‘Yes, I am. You will not begrudge me a stay in town? Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend for years.’

‘I could never begrudge you anything. I have already been more fortunate than I dared hope, for you were still here when I returned after Christmas when I was expecting to find you gone.’

‘I should have gone, by rights, but when it came to it I found I could not leave the neighborhood whilst Henry was trying to fix Fanny. It would not have been fair to take him away at such a time.’

But something in her eye and voice told me that that was not her only reason for delaying her departure.

‘I thought I would not see you again.’

‘Did you?’ she asked with a smile.

‘I did. I thought you were lost to me. But now I hope we may meet often. I will be going to town myself before long. will I see you there?’

‘I rely upon it. You must come and visit me at Mrs. Fraser’s.’

‘You may be certain of it.’

There was time for no more. The evening was drawing to an end. Crawford was taking his leave of Fanny, who seemed sorry to see him go, and I took Mary’s hand and bent over it.

‘Until then,’ I said.

Tuesday 17 January

‘Well, Edmund,’ said my father, as we sat over the port, ‘and do you think Fanny misses Crawford now that he has gone?’

‘I hardly think three or four days’ absence enough to produce such a feeling.’

‘And yet she has been used to attention, to being singled out in the most flattering way. It is strange that she should not miss it. The attentions of her aunts can hardly compensate for the company of an intelligent young man.’

What puzzled me more was that Fanny did not seem to regret Miss Crawford, for Mary had been her friend and companion for far longer than Crawford had been her acknowledged lover.

‘I will be going to town in less than a fortnight,’ I said to Fanny, when my father and I rejoined the ladies. ‘Do you have any commissions for me?’

‘I cannot think of anything at the moment.’

‘You must let me know if any occur to you. And if you have any letters for Miss Crawford I can take them to her.’

‘You will be visiting her?’ she enquired.

‘Yes, indeed. I am looking forward to it. I am persuaded that she, too, is looking forward to it. She will be able to hear about you, and everyone at Mansfield.’

Fanny said nothing.

‘You are very quiet, Fanny. Have you nothing to say of your friend? I thought you would be constantly talking of her. It cannot be pleasant for you to be all alone again.’

‘I have my aunts, and—’

‘And?’

‘And... that is enough.’

My mother calling to me, I could say no more, but as Mama was happy to talk of Mary, I was well satisfied with my evening, and could only have enjoyed it more if Fanny had confessed to missing Crawford as much as I missed his sister.

Wednesday 18 January

I spoke to Ingles about the field and although he said he did not want to sell, and could not let it go below an exorbitant price, I believe he was only bargaining and will let me have it in the end.

Monday 23 January

Fanny’s indifference to Crawford’s and Mary’s absence has been made clear: she is too excited at William’s visit to have room in her mind and heart for anything else. He is to join us on Friday, and I hope that seeing him, newly promoted, will make Fanny think more kindly of Crawford, whose good offices brought the promotion about.

Friday 27 January

William arrived, looking bright and handsome, and was full of his new honor. He lamented the fact that he could not show his uniform to us, but he described it in enough detail to please even Fanny. I wished she could see it, but I fear that, by the time she does, it will no longer be a source of such joy to William. A lieutenant’s rank will satisfy him for now, but before long he will want further promotion; his uniform will seem like a badge of disgrace when all his friends have been made commanders. I only hope that by then, Fanny will be safely married to Crawford, and that the Admiral will be disposed to help William again. That would be a happy occasion indeed, if we could see William in a captain’s uniform. I said as much to Fanny, and she smiled, and said she was sure his merits would lift him to the highest rank. It transpired that Fanny will settle for nothing less than seeing him an admiral!

Saturday 28 January

Crawford left a horse for William to ride and we went out together this morning. We had not gone far before he had a fall. Having ridden mules, donkeys and scrawny horses he was not adept at handling a highly bred animal, and came to grief whilst jumping a fence. The horse was none the worse, which was a mercy, or Crawford would have paid a heavy price for his kindness. William was unhurt, but he bruised his side and his coat was covered in mud.

‘Say nothing of this to Fanny,’ he begged me. ‘She worries about me; though if she could see the scrapes I have survived she would know I could survive anything! On my first ship I was swept overboard and was only able to climb back again by grabbling hold of a piece of torn sail that had washed overboard with me. By luck it was still attached to the rest of the sail, and I used it as a rope to haul myself in.’

The stories became more gruesome; far worse than the ones he had told in the drawing-room; and I was glad he had spared Fanny the details of his hardships and deprivations, and the rigors of Navy life. I admired him all the more for being so considerate, as well as for being a brave man.

‘We can go to Thornton Lacey,’ I said. ‘You can wash there and brush your coat when the mud has dried. I can lend you a shirt,’ I added, noticing his own was ripped, for luckily I had begun to move some of my things over to the rectory.

We were soon there and I took him into the kitchen so that he could wash. As he stripped off his shirt I saw there were a number of scars on his back and arms and he told me about each one; how a Frenchman had got in a lucky thrust as he boarded a foreign vessel; how he had been outnumbered and had had to fight his way out of a corner with his sword in his left hand; how he had been down, with a sword at his throat, when his friend had run his adversary through, and he had taken a cut when his adversary fell. And tales of a better sort: the deep scar on his right arm had come from his standing between his captain and injury; and the scar on his shoulder was from protecting the cabin boy, a young lad on his first voyage, who, because of William’s prompt action, had survived to make a second one.

I gave him a clean shirt and once the mud had dried he was able to brush it from his coat before we returned to the Park. We found Fanny in the drawing-room, sketching.

‘I am glad to see you have taken Mary’s advice,’ I said, when I saw the fruit of her labors; explaining to William, ‘Fanny’s friend, Miss Crawford, advised her to have a picture of you to keep by her when you are away.’

‘Now that I have my promotion, it is perhaps worth having, ’ he acknowledged.

‘It was always worth having, to me,’ said Fanny.

‘You should draw a likeness of Edmund,’ said William. ‘Your sketching is really very good. Is it not?’ he asked me.

‘Yes, excellent. well, Fanny? will you draw me?’

‘If you will still for as long as it takes, and not be off on parish business.’

‘I believe it can spare me for the rest of the day.’

William stood by Fanny’s shoulder as she drew, saying, ‘A little more length here,’ or ‘a little more shading there,’ until it was done.

‘Very creditable,’ I said. ‘I will have it framed, I believe, the next time I go into town.’

‘And perhaps, the next time I see you, you can sketch me in my new uniform as well,’ said William.

Monday 30 January

My father was impressed with Fanny’s drawings, and he has thought of a scheme to help her see William in his new uniform.

‘I am planning on sending her back to Portsmouth with him, to spend a little time with her family,’ he said to me. ‘What do you think of the idea, Edmund?’

‘I think it an excellent one. I know she will welcome it.’

‘Good. Then send her to me and I will tell her of it,’ he said. When Fanny heard of it she was in raptures. Though she did not make the noise my sisters would have done at such delight, her shining face told me her feelings, and her swelling heart soon gave them voice.

‘I can never thank my uncle enough for being so kind,’ she said to William and me. ‘To go home again! And to be with you, William, until your very last hour on land. And then to stay with my family for two months, perhaps three. Oh! never was anyone luckier than I.’ Then her face fell and she said to me, ‘But will your mother be able to manage without me?’

‘Of course she will,’ I said. ‘She will have Aunt Norris.’

‘But Aunt Norris will not fetch and carry for her as I do.’

‘Then I will do it for her.’

‘But you will not be here.’ She colored. ‘You will soon be going to town, and you will have other demands on your time, other people...’

I thought of Mary, and I was sure her thoughts had gone to Mary’s brother, for why else should she fall silent? I reassured her that Mama would manage without her, but she was still perturbed, and it was not until my father reassured her after dinner that she was content. It is so like Fanny to be always thinking of others. It will do her good to go to Portsmouth, where she can think more of herself. And if she marries Crawford — when she marries Crawford — she will be able to consult her own inclination on almost everything. She will have servants to run her errands, instead of having to run them for others, and everything in the house will be organized as she wishes. She will be a very happy woman before the year is out.

Tuesday 31 January

Having told Fanny Mama could manage without her, I was surprised to find that Mama saw it in a different light.

‘Why should she see her family?’ she asked, when Fanny was out riding. ‘She has done very well without her family for eight or nine years. Why can she not do without them again?’

‘My dear,’ said my father, ‘it is only right and proper that Fanny should visit them from time to time.’

‘I do not see why,’ said Mama, picking Pug up and stroking him. ‘I am sure she does not want to go. Ask her, Sir Thomas. I am sure she would much rather stay here.’

‘She has a duty to her family,’ said my father, trying again.

‘And she has a duty here,’ returned Mama.

‘It will be a sacrifice for you, I know,’ said my father, ‘but Lady Bertram has always been capable of sacrifice for the good of others, and I know she will be so again.’

This courtesy did little to soften Mama’s unhappiness. ‘I see that you think she must go, and if you think it, Sir Thomas, then she must, but for myself I can see no reason for it. I need her so very much here.’

At this my aunt joined in the conversation.

‘Nonsense, my dear Lady Bertram. Fanny can very well be spared. I am ready to give up all my time to your pleasure, and Fanny will not be wanted or missed.’

‘That may be, sister. I dare say you are very right; but I am sure I shall miss her very much,’ said Mama.

Knowing that my father would have his way and Fanny would go to Portsmouth, I blessed Mama for her words; it was good to know that Fanny would be so missed by someone other than myself, for I fear she is often taken for granted.