How is the consternation of the party to be described? To most it was a moment of absolute horror. Sir Thomas in the house! After the first exclamations, not a word was spoken for half a minute: each with an altered countenance was looking at some other, and feeling it a stroke the most unwelcome, most ill-timed! Mr. Yates might consider it only as an interruption, and Mr. Rushworth might imagine it a blessing; but every other heart was sinking under self-condemnation or undefined alarm. It was a terrible pause; and terrible to every ear were the sounds of opening doors and footsteps.
Julia was the first to move and speak again. At the moment of her appearance, Frederick was listening with devoted looks to Agatha, and pressing her hand to his heart; and as soon as Julia noticed this, and saw that he still retained her sister's hand, her wounded heart swelled again with injury. She left the room, saying, "I need not be afraid of appearing before him."
Her going roused the rest. The two brothers stepped forward, and agreed they must go to the drawing-room directly. Maria joined them, just then the stoutest of the three; for the very circumstance which had driven Julia away was to her the sweetest support. Henry Crawford's retaining her hand at such a moment was worth ages of doubt and anxiety. She hailed it as a sign of the most serious intent, and was equal even to encounter her father.
They walked off, heedless of Mr. Rushworth's repeated question of, "Shall I go too? Had not I better go too?" Henry Crawford answered the anxious inquiry, and, encouraging him to pay his respects to Sir Thomas, sent him after the others with delighted haste.
Fanny was left with the Crawfords and Mr. Yates. She had been quite overlooked; and as her own opinion of her claim on Sir Thomas's affection was much too humble to give her any idea of classing herself with his children, she was glad to remain behind. Her agitation was excessive. She was nearly fainting: all her habitual dread of her uncle was returning, and with it, compassion for him and for the others, with solicitude on Edmund's account indescribable. She sat, trembling, while the other three were giving vent to their feelings, lamenting over such an unlooked-for arrival, and wishing Sir Thomas were still in Antigua.
The Crawfords were more warm on the subject than Mr. Yates, from better understanding the family. The ruin of the play was to them a certainty: while Mr. Yates considered it only as an interruption for the evening, and suggested the possibility of the rehearsal being renewed after tea. The Crawfords laughed at the idea; and invited Mr. Yates to spend the evening with them at the Parsonage. But Mr. Yates, thanking them, said, "he preferred remaining, that he might pay his respects to the old gentleman; and besides, he did not think it would be fair by the others to have everybody run away."
Fanny was commissioned with the Crawfords' apology, and went to perform the dreadful duty of appearing before her uncle.
Too soon did she find herself at the drawing-room door. After pausing a moment for a courage which the outside of no door had ever supplied to her, she turned the lock in desperation, and the collected family were before her. Her own name caught her ear. Sir Thomas was looking round, and saying, "Why do not I see my little Fanny?"—and on perceiving her, came forward with a kindness which astonished her, calling her his dear Fanny, kissing her affectionately, and observing with pleasure how much she was grown!
Fanny knew not how to feel, nor where to look. She was quite oppressed. He had never been so kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed, his voice was joyful; and his awful dignity seemed lost in tenderness. He led her nearer the light and looked at her again—inquired after her health, and then, correcting himself, observed that he need not inquire, for her appearance spoke sufficiently on that point.
He inquired next after her family, especially William: and his kindness made her reproach herself for loving him so little. When, on having courage to lift her eyes to his face, she saw that he was grown thinner, and looked worn and fatigued, every tender feeling was increased, and she was miserable in considering how much unsuspected vexation was ready to burst on him.
Sir Thomas was indeed the life of the party. His delight in being in the centre of his family, after such a separation, made him unusually communicative and chatty; and he was ready to answer every question of his two sons almost before it was put. His business in Antigua had prospered, and he came directly from Liverpool, having had an opportunity of making his passage in a private vessel, instead of waiting for the packet.
As he sat by Lady Bertram, he looked with heartfelt satisfaction on the faces around him—interrupting himself more than once, to remark on his good fortune in finding them all at home—all collected together exactly as he could have wished. Mr. Rushworth was not forgotten: a most friendly warmth of hand-shaking had already met him. There was nothing disagreeable in Mr. Rushworth's appearance, and Sir Thomas was liking him already.
By not one of the circle was he listened to with such unalloyed enjoyment as by his wife, who was really extremely happy to see him, and whose feelings were so warmed by his sudden arrival as to make her almost fluttered for a few minutes. She put away her work, moved Pug from her side, and gave all her attention to her husband. It was so agreeable to see him again, that she began to feel how dreadfully she must have missed him, and how impossible it would have been for her to bear a lengthened absence.
Mrs. Norris was not as happy as her sister. Not that she feared Sir Thomas's disapprobation when the present state of his house should be known, for her judgment had been so blinded that she had no alarm; but she was vexed by the manner of his return. It had left her nothing to do. Instead of her seeing him first, and spreading the happy news through the house, Sir Thomas had sought no confidant but the butler. Mrs. Norris felt herself defrauded of an office on which she had depended, whether his arrival or his death were to be the thing unfolded; and was now trying to be in a bustle without having anything to bustle about, and when nothing was wanted but tranquillity and silence. Would Sir Thomas have consented to eat, she might have gone to the housekeeper with troublesome directions; but Sir Thomas resolutely declined all dinner: he would rather wait for tea. Still Mrs. Norris was at intervals urging something; and in the most interesting moment of his passage to England, when the alarm of a French privateer was at its height, she burst through his recital with the proposal of soup.
Sir Thomas could not be provoked. "Still the same anxiety for everybody's comfort, my dear Mrs. Norris," was his answer. "But indeed I would rather have nothing but tea."
"Well, then, Lady Bertram, suppose you order tea directly." This done, Sir Thomas's narrative proceeded.
At length there was a pause. In her elation Lady Bertram became talkative, and what were the sensations of her children upon hearing her say, "How do you think the young people have been amusing themselves, Sir Thomas? They have been acting."
"Indeed! and what have you been acting?"
"Oh! they'll tell you all about it."
"The all will soon be told," cried Tom hastily; "but we will not bore my father with it now. You will hear enough of it to-morrow, sir. We have just been trying, by way of amusing my mother, to get up a few scenes, a mere trifle. We have had such incessant rains since October began, that we have been confined to the house for days together. I have hardly taken out a gun since the 3rd. Tolerable sport the first three days, but there has been no attempting anything since. The first day I went over Mansfield Wood, and Edmund took the copses beyond Easton, and we brought home six brace between us, and might have killed six times as many, but we respect your pheasants, sir, as much as you could desire. I never saw Mansfield Wood so full of pheasants as this year. I hope you will take a day's sport there yourself, sir, soon."
For the present the danger was over, and Fanny's sick feelings subsided; but when tea was brought in, and Sir Thomas, getting up, said that he would just look into his own dear room, every agitation returned. He was gone before anything had been said to prepare him for the change he must find; and a pause of alarm followed his disappearance.
"Something must be done," sa
id Edmund.
"We must think of our visitors," said Maria, still feeling her hand pressed to Henry Crawford's heart. "Where did you leave Miss Crawford, Fanny?"
Fanny told of their departure, and delivered their message.
"Then poor Yates is all alone," cried Tom. "I will go and fetch him."
To the theatre he went, and reached it just in time to witness the first meeting of his father and his friend. Sir Thomas had been a good deal surprised to find candles burning in his room; and on casting his eye round it, to see a general air of confusion in the furniture. The removal of the bookcase from before the billiard-room door struck him especially, but he had scarcely time to feel astonished, before there were sounds from the billiard-room to astonish him still farther. Some one was talking there loudly; he did not know the voice.
He stepped to the door, and, opening it, found himself on the stage of a theatre, opposite a ranting young man, who appeared likely to knock him down backwards. At the very moment of Yates perceiving Sir Thomas, and giving perhaps the very best start he had ever given in the whole course of his rehearsals, Tom Bertram entered; and never had he found greater difficulty in keeping his countenance. The gradual metamorphosis of the impassioned Baron Wildenheim into the well-bred and easy Mr. Yates, making his bow and apology to Sir Thomas Bertram, was such a piece of true acting as he would not have lost upon any account. It would probably be the last scene on that stage; but he was sure there could not be a finer.
It was necessary for him to step forward and assist the introduction, and with awkward sensations he did his best. Sir Thomas received Mr. Yates with the appearance of cordiality, but was really far from pleased with the acquaintance. Mr. Yates's family were sufficiently known to him to render his introduction as the "particular friend" exceedingly unwelcome; and it needed all the joy of being at home to save Sir Thomas from anger.
Tom understood his father's thoughts, and began to see, more clearly than he had done before, that there might be some ground of offence, that there might be some reason for the glance his father gave towards the ceiling; and that when he inquired with mild gravity after the fate of the billiard-table, he was not proceeding beyond a very allowable curiosity. The three gentlemen returned to the drawing-room together, Sir Thomas with an increase of gravity which was not lost on all.
"I come from your theatre," said he composedly, as he sat down; "It took me by surprise, as I had not the smallest suspicion of your acting having assumed so serious a character. It appears a neat job, however, and does my friend Christopher Jackson credit." And then he would have changed the subject; but Mr. Yates, without discernment or discretion, would keep him on the topic of the theatre, would torment him with remarks about it, and finally would make him hear the whole history of his disappointment at Ecclesford. Sir Thomas listened most politely, but found much to confirm his ill-opinion of Mr. Yates.
"This was, in fact, the origin of our acting," said Tom. "My friend Yates brought the infection from Ecclesford, and it spread—as those things always spread, you know, sir—the faster, probably, from your having encouraged the sort of thing in us formerly. It was like treading old ground."
Mr. Yates immediately gave Sir Thomas an account of what they were doing: told him of the happy conclusion of their first difficulties, and present state of affairs; blind to the uneasy movements of his friends, the fidget, the hem! of unquietness, and even to the expression of the face on which his own eyes were fixed. Sir Thomas's dark brow contracted as he looked with inquiring earnestness at his daughters and Edmund, dwelling particularly on the latter with reproof.
Fanny, screened from notice herself, saw all that was passing. Such a look of reproach at Edmund from his father she could never have expected to witness; and to feel that it was in any way deserved was terrible indeed.
Mr. Yates was still talking. "To own the truth, Sir Thomas, we were in the middle of a rehearsal when you arrived. Nothing more can be done to-night; but if you will give us the honour of your company to-morrow, I should not be afraid of the result. We ask your indulgence as young performers."
"My indulgence shall be given, sir," replied Sir Thomas gravely, "but without any other rehearsal." And with a relenting smile, he added, "I come home to be happy and indulgent. Mr. and Miss Crawford were mentioned in my last letters from Mansfield. Do you find them agreeable acquaintance?"
Tom was the only one ready with an answer. "Mr. Crawford was a most pleasant, gentleman-like man; his sister a sweet, pretty, elegant, lively girl."
Mr. Rushworth could be silent no longer. "You should tell your father he is not above five feet eight, or he will be expecting a well-looking man."
Sir Thomas did not quite understand this, and looked with some surprise at the speaker.
Mr. Rushworth continued. "In my opinion it is very disagreeable to be always rehearsing. I think we are a great deal better employed, sitting comfortably here among ourselves, and doing nothing."
Sir Thomas replied with an approving smile, "I am happy to find our sentiments so much the same. It gives me sincere satisfaction. That I should feel scruples which my children do not feel, is perfectly natural; and equally my love of domestic tranquillity should exceed theirs. But at your time of life to feel all this, is a most favourable circumstance for yourself; and I am glad to have an ally of such weight."
Sir Thomas was aware that he must not expect a genius in Mr. Rushworth; but as a well-judging, steady young man, with better notions than his elocution would do justice to, he intended to value him very highly. Mr. Rushworth hardly knew what to do with so much meaning; but by looking exceedingly pleased with Sir Thomas's good opinion, and saying scarcely anything, he did his best towards preserving that good opinion a little longer.
CHAPTER 20