"But why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?" said Lady Bertram. "Fanny never dines there. I cannot spare her, and I am sure she does not want to go. Fanny, you do not want to go, do you?"
"If you ask her," cried Edmund, "Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my dear mother, she would like to go."
"Why should Mrs. Grant think of asking her? She never did before."
"If you cannot do without me, ma'am—" said Fanny, in a self-denying tone.
"Suppose you take my father's opinion, ma'am."
"So I will, Edmund. I will ask Sir Thomas, as soon as he comes in, whether I can do without her."
"As you please, ma'am; but I meant my father's opinion as to the propriety of the invitation's being accepted; and I think he will consider that it should be."
"I do not know. But he will be very much surprised that Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all."
Half an hour afterwards, on Sir Thomas’s looking in for a minute, Lady Bertram called him back. "Sir Thomas, stop a moment—I have something to say."
Her tone of calm languor was always attended to; and Sir Thomas came back. Her story began; and Fanny immediately slipped out of the room; for to hear herself the subject of any discussion with her uncle was more than her nerves could bear. She was more anxious perhaps than she ought to be—for what was it after all whether she went or stayed? but if her uncle were to be a great while considering with grave looks, and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly submissive.
Her cause, meanwhile, went on well. Lady Bertram began, "I have something to tell you that will surprise you. Mrs. Grant has asked Fanny to dinner."
"Well," said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the surprise.
"Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?"
"What is your difficulty?"
Edmund found himself obliged to speak. He told the whole; and she added, "So strange! for Mrs. Grant never used to ask her."
"But is it not very natural," observed Edmund, "that Mrs. Grant should wish to procure so agreeable a visitor for her sister?"
"Nothing can be more natural," said Sir Thomas. "Mrs. Grant's showing civility to Lady Bertram's niece could never want explanation. The only surprise is, that this should be the first time of its being paid. Fanny was perfectly right in giving a conditional answer. But as I conclude that she must wish to go, since all young people like to be together, I can see no reason why she should be denied."
"But can I do without her, Sir Thomas? She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not here."
"Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to stay with us, and I shall be at home."
"Very well, then, Fanny may go."
The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her door.
"Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled. You are to go."
"Thank you, I am so glad," was Fanny's instinctive reply; though when she had shut the door, she could not help feeling, "Yet why should I be glad? for am I not certain of hearing something there to pain me?"
In spite of this, however, she was glad. Simple as the engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty and importance in hers, for she had scarcely ever dined out before; and though going only half a mile, and only to three people, still it was dining out, and all the little preparations were enjoyments in themselves. She had no assistance from those who ought to have directed her taste; for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to anybody, and Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, was in a very ill humour, intent only on lessening her niece's pleasure.
"Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck! You ought to be very much obliged to Mrs. Grant for thinking of you, and to your aunt for letting you go; for there is no occasion for your going into company in this way, or ever dining out at all. Do not fancy that the invitation is meant as any compliment to you; the compliment is intended to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it a civility due to us, and you may be very certain that, if your cousin Julia had been at home, you would not have been asked at all."
Mrs. Norris had now so ingeniously done away all Mrs. Grant's part of the favour, that Fanny could only say that she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her.
"Oh! your aunt can do very well without you, or you would not be allowed to go. I shall be here, so you may be quite easy. And I hope you will find it all mighty delightful. But I must observe that five is the very awkwardest of all possible numbers to sit down to table; and I am surprised at Mrs. Grant! And round their enormous great wide table, too, which fills up the room so dreadfully! Had the doctor been content to take my dining-table when I came away, instead of having that absurd new one of his own, how infinitely better it would have been! Only five to be sitting round that table. However, you will have dinner enough on it for ten, I dare say."
Mrs. Norris fetched breath, and went on again.
"I must give you a hint, Fanny, now that you are going into company; do not be putting yourself forward, and talking as if you were one of your cousins—as if you were dear Mrs. Rushworth or Julia. That will never do. Remember, wherever you are, you must be the lowest and last. And you are to stay just as long as Edmund chooses. Leave him to settle that."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, you must manage as well as you can, and not be expecting the carriage to be sent for you."
Her niece thought it perfectly reasonable. She rated her own claims to comfort as low as Mrs. Norris could; and when Sir Thomas, just opening the door, said, "Fanny, at what time would you have the carriage come round?" she felt astonished.
"My dear Sir Thomas!" cried Mrs. Norris, red with anger, "Fanny can walk."
"Walk!" repeated Sir Thomas, in a tone of most unanswerable dignity. "My niece walk to a dinner engagement at this time of the year! Will twenty minutes after four suit you?"
"Yes, sir," was Fanny's humble answer, given with the feelings of a criminal towards Mrs. Norris; and as she followed her uncle out of the room, she heard these words spoken in angry agitation—
"Quite unnecessary! a great deal too kind! But Edmund goes; it is upon Edmund's account."
Fanny, however, felt that the carriage was for herself: and her uncle's consideration cost her some tears of gratitude when she was alone.
The coachman drove round promptly; and Sir Thomas saw Fanny and Edmund off in good time.
"Now I must look at you, Fanny," said Edmund, with the kind smile of a brother, "and tell you how I like you; and as well as I can judge by this light, you look very nicely indeed. What have you got on?"
"The new dress that my uncle kindly gave me on my cousin's marriage. I thought I ought to wear it, as I might not have another opportunity all winter. I hope you do not think me too fine."
"A woman can never be too fine while she is all in white. Your gown seems very pretty. I like these glossy spots. Has not Miss Crawford a gown something the same?"
In approaching the Parsonage they passed close by the stable-yard.
"Heyday!" said Edmund, "here's a carriage! who have they got to meet us? 'Tis Crawford's barouche! There are his men. This is quite a surprise, Fanny. I shall be very glad to see him."
There was no occasion for Fanny to say how differently she felt; but the idea of having such another to observe her caused a great increase of the trepidation with which she performed the awful ceremony of walking into the drawing-room.
In the drawing-room Mr. Crawford certainly was; and the smiles of the three others standing round him, showed how welcome was his sudden resolution of coming to them for a few days on leaving Bath. A very cordial meeting passed between him and Edmund; and with the exception of Fanny, the pleasure was general.
His presence at least meant that she could sit silent and unattended to. Though she must submit to being the principal lady in company, she found, while they were at table, a happy flow of conversation in which she was not required to take any part. There was so much to be said
about Bath, and hunting, and politics, and everything else, as to leave her the fairest prospect of having only to listen in quiet, and of passing a very agreeable day.
She could not, however, show any eager interest in the gentleman’s scheme for extending his stay at Mansfield, and sending for his hunters from Norfolk, which, urged by all the others, was in possession of his mind, and in which he seemed to want encouragement even from Fanny. Her answers to him were as short and indifferent as civility allowed. She would much rather not have him speak to her.
Her two absent cousins, especially Maria, were much in her thoughts; but no embarrassing remembrance affected his spirits. He was apparently as willing to stay and be happy without the Miss Bertrams, as if he had never known Mansfield in any other state. He spoke of them only in a general way, till they were all re-assembled in the drawing-room, when he began talking of them to Miss Crawford. With a significant smile, which made Fanny quite hate him, he said, "So! Rushworth and his fair bride are at Brighton, I understand; happy man!"
"Yes, they have been there a fortnight. Julia is with them."
"And Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off."
"Oh! we hear nothing of Mr. Yates. I do not imagine he figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park; do you, Miss Price? I think Julia knows better than to entertain her father with Mr. Yates."
"Poor Rushworth and his two-and-forty speeches!" continued Crawford. "Nobody can ever forget them. Well, I am much mistaken if his lovely Maria will ever want him to make two-and-forty speeches to her"; adding, with a momentary seriousness, "She is too good for him—much too good." Then changing again to gentle gallantry, and addressing Fanny, he said, "You were Mr. Rushworth's best friend. Your kindness and patience to him can never be forgotten. He might not have sense enough himself to value your kindness, but it had honour from all the rest of the party."
Fanny coloured, and said nothing.
"It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!" he exclaimed, after a few minutes' musing. "I shall always look back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was such an interest, such an animation. We were all alive. There was employment, hope, bustle, for every hour of the day. I never was happier."
With silent indignation Fanny repeated to herself, "Never happier than when behaving so dishonourably and unfeelingly! Oh! what a corrupted mind!"
"We were unlucky, Miss Price," he continued, in a lower tone, not at all aware of her feelings. "Another week would have been enough for us. If Mansfield Park had had the government of the winds just for a week or two, there would have been a difference. Not that we would have endangered his safety by any tremendous weather—but I think, Miss Price, we would have indulged ourselves with a week's calm in the Atlantic."
Fanny, averting her face, said, with a firmer tone than usual, "I would not have delayed his return for a day, sir. My uncle disapproved it all so entirely when he did arrive, that in my opinion everything had gone quite far enough."
She had never spoken so much at once to him before, and never so angrily to any one; and she trembled at her own daring. He was surprised; but after a few moments' silent consideration of her, replied in a calmer, graver tone, "I believe you are right. It was more pleasant than prudent. We were getting too noisy." He would have engaged her on some other subject, but her answers were so shy and reluctant that he could not advance in any.
Miss Crawford, who had been repeatedly eyeing Dr. Grant and Edmund, now observed, "Those gentlemen must have some very interesting point to discuss."
"The most interesting in the world," replied her brother—"how to make money. Dr. Grant is giving Bertram instructions about the living he is to step into soon. He takes orders in a few weeks. He will have a very pretty income, earned without much trouble: seven hundred a year. That is a fine thing for a younger brother; and as of course he will still live at home, it will be all for small luxuries; and a sermon at Christmas and Easter, I suppose, will be the sum total of sacrifice."
His sister tried to laugh off her feelings by saying, "Nothing amuses me more than the easy manner with which everybody settles the abundance of those who have a great deal less than themselves. You would look rather blank, Henry, if your small luxuries were to be limited to seven hundred a year."
"Perhaps; but Bertram is certainly well off for a cadet of a baronet's family. By the time he is five and twenty he will have seven hundred a year, and nothing to do for it."
Miss Crawford could have said that there would be a something to do for it, which she could not think lightly of; but she let it pass; and tried to look unconcerned when the two gentlemen joined them.
"Bertram," said Henry Crawford, "I shall make a point of coming to Mansfield to hear you preach your first sermon. When is it to be? Miss Price, will not you join me? Will not you fix your eyes steadily on him the whole time—as I shall do—only looking down to note any sentence pre-eminently beautiful? We will provide ourselves with tablets and a pencil. When will it be?"
"I shall keep clear of you, Crawford, as long as I can," said Edmund; "for you would disconcert me, and I should be more sorry to see you trying at it than almost any other man."
"Will he not feel this?" thought Fanny. "No, he can feel nothing as he ought."
The party being now united, and the chief talkers attracting each other, she remained in tranquillity; and as a whist-table was formed after tea for the amusement of Dr. Grant, and Miss Crawford took her harp, she had nothing to do but to listen. Her tranquillity remained undisturbed the rest of the evening, except when Mr. Crawford now and then addressed to her a question, which she could not avoid answering.
Miss Crawford was too much vexed to be in a humour for anything but music. Edmund's being so soon to take orders had come upon her like a blow; she had hoped it still uncertain, and felt resentment and mortification. She was very angry with him. She had thought her influence more. She had begun to think of him with great regard, with almost decided intentions; but she would now meet him with his own cool feelings. It was plain that he could have no true attachment, by fixing himself in a situation which he must know she would never stoop to. She would learn to match him in his indifference, and would henceforth admit his attentions without any idea beyond her immediate amusement.
CHAPTER 24