Edmund Bertram's Diary (21 page)

‘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 wil 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 shal ,’ she said, control ing her passion. ‘As far as the future can be answered for; I think I never shal 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 al 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 wil ) to deserve you by his steady affection, wil give him his reward,’ I said.

But she did not enter into my hopes. Quite the reverse. ‘We are so total y unlike,’ she said, ‘we are so very, very different in al 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, wil think you unfitted as companions? There is a decided difference in your tempers, I al ow. He is lively, you are serious; but so much the better: his spirits wil support yours.’

She hesitated, and then said reluctantly, ‘I cannot approve his character. I have not thought wel 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 wil 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 fol y. He wil make you happy, Fanny; I know he wil make you happy, and you wil 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 wel . Pleasant, good-humored, unaffected girls. But I am spoilt, Fanny, for common female society. Good-humored, unaffected girls wil 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 shal 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 wil 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 wel . 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 al would final y be wel .

‘It is a pity your brother has to go to town tomorrow,’ I said to Mary. She fol owed 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 wil 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 stil 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 wil be going to town myself before long. Wil 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

‘Wel , 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 intel igent 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 wil 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 wil 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 wil 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 al alone again.’

‘I have my aunts, and—’

‘And?’

‘And . . . that is enough.’

My mother cal ing to me, I could say no more, but as Mama was happy to talk of Mary, I was wel 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 sel , and could not let it go below an exorbitant price, I believe he was only bargaining and wil 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 Wil iam’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, wil make Fanny think more kindly of Crawford, whose good offices brought the promotion about.

Friday 27 January

Wil iam arrived, looking bright and handsome, and was ful 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 wil no longer be a source of such joy to Wil iam. A lieutenant’s rank wil satisfy him for now, but before long he wil want further promotion; his uniform wil seem like a badge of disgrace when al his friends have been made commanders. I only hope that by then, Fanny wil be safely married to Crawford, and that the Admiral wil be disposed to help Wil iam again. That would be a happy occasion indeed, if we could see Wil iam 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 wil settle for nothing less than seeing him an admiral!

Saturday 28 January

Crawford left a horse for Wil iam to ride and we went out together this morning. We had not gone far before he had a fal . 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. Wil iam 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 stil 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 al the more for being so considerate, as wel 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 fel . 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 Wil iam’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 Wil iam, ‘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 Wil iam. ‘Your sketching is real y very good. Is it not?’ he asked me.

‘Yes, excel ent. Wel , Fanny? Wil you draw me?’

‘If you wil stil 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.’

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

‘Very creditable,’ I said. ‘I wil 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 wel ,’ said Wil iam.

Monday 30 January

My father was impressed with Fanny’s drawings, and he has thought of a scheme to help her see Wil iam 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 excel ent one. I know she wil welcome it.’

‘Good. Then send her to me and I wil tel 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 swel ing heart soon gave them voice.

‘I can never thank my uncle enough for being so kind,’ she said to Wil iam and me. ‘To go home again! And to be with you, Wil iam, 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 fel and she said to me, ‘But wil your mother be able to manage without me?’