Henry Crawford was at Mansfield Park again early the next morning. Lady Bertram was quitting the breakfast-room as he entered.
Henry, overjoyed to have her go, bowed and watched her off, and then turned instantly to Fanny, and, taking out some letters, said, "I have been wishing to see you alone. Knowing what your feelings as a sister are, I could hardly have borne that any one should share with you in the first knowledge of the news I bring. Your brother is a lieutenant. I have the infinite satisfaction of congratulating you on your brother's promotion. Here are the letters which announce it. You will, perhaps, like to see them."
Fanny could not speak; but for him to see the expression of her eyes, the change of her complexion, was enough. She took the letters. The first was from the Admiral to inform his nephew of his having succeeded in the promotion of young Price, and enclosing two more, one from the Secretary of the First Lord to a friend, whom the Admiral had set to work in the business, the other from that friend to himself; in which it appeared that Sir Charles was delighted to prove his regard for Admiral Crawford, by the commission of Mr. William Price as Second Lieutenant.
While her hand was trembling under these letters, her heart swelling with emotion, Crawford thus continued eagerly—
"I will not talk of my own happiness," said he, "for I think only of yours. I have not lost a moment in bringing the news. How impatient, how anxious, how wild I have been; how cruelly disappointed, in not having the business finished while I was in London! I stayed there from day to day in the hope of it, for nothing less would have kept me from Mansfield. But there were difficulties and delays, and I came away on Monday, trusting that I should very soon be followed by such letters as these. My uncle, who is the very best man in the world, has exerted himself, as I knew he would, after seeing your brother. He was delighted with him. He gave William the highest commendation after the evening they passed together."
"Has this been all your doing, then?" cried Fanny. "How very, very kind! I beg your pardon, but I am bewildered. Did Admiral Crawford apply? How was it? I am stupefied."
Henry was happy to explain what he had done. His journey to London had been undertaken with no other view than that of introducing her brother to the Admiral and prevailing on him to exert his interest. This had been his business.
He spoke with such a glow, used such strong expressions, and was so abounding in twofold motives, that Fanny could not have remained unaware of his drift, had she been able to attend; but her heart was so full that she could only listen imperfectly, saying when he paused, "How very kind! Oh, Mr. Crawford, we are infinitely obliged to you! Dearest William!" She jumped up, crying out, "My uncle ought to know it as soon as possible."
But this could not be allowed. The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. He was after her immediately. "She must not go, she must allow him five minutes longer." He led her back to her seat, and was in the middle of his farther explanation, before she had suspected for what she was detained.
When she did understand it, however, and found herself expected to believe that she had created sensations which his heart had never known before, and that everything he had done for William was because of his attachment to her, she was exceedingly distressed, and for some moments unable to speak. She considered it all as nonsense, as mere trifling and gallantry; he was treating her improperly, and in a way that she had not deserved; but it was like himself, and entirely of a piece with what she had seen before; and she would not allow herself to show displeasure, after he had conferred such an obligation. While her heart was still bounding with joy and gratitude on William's behalf, she could not be severe; and after having twice drawn back her hand, and attempted in vain to turn away, she got up, and said only, with much agitation, "Don't, Mr. Crawford, pray don't! I beg you would not. This sort of talking is very unpleasant to me. I must go away. I cannot bear it."
But he was still talking on, describing his affection, and finally offering himself, hand, fortune, everything, to her acceptance. It was so; he had said it. Her astonishment and confusion increased; and though still not supposing him serious, she could hardly stand. He pressed for an answer.
"No, no, no!" she cried, hiding her face. "This is all nonsense. I can hear no more of this. Your kindness to William makes me more obliged to you than words can express; but I do not want, I cannot bear, I must not listen to such—No, no, don't think of me. But you are not thinking of me. I know it is all nothing."
She burst away from him, and at that moment Sir Thomas was heard speaking to a servant just outside the room. She rushed out at an opposite door from the one her uncle was approaching, and was walking up and down the East room in the utmost confusion of feeling, before Sir Thomas had reached the beginning of the joyful news which his visitor came to communicate.
She was feeling, thinking, trembling about everything; agitated, happy, miserable, infinitely obliged, absolutely angry. It was all beyond belief! He was inexcusable, incomprehensible! But such were his habits that he could do nothing without a mixture of evil. He had previously made her the happiest of human beings, and now he had insulted—she knew not how to regard it. She did not want him to be serious, and yet what could excuse his words, if they meant but to trifle?
But William was a lieutenant. That was a fact beyond a doubt. She would think of it and forget all the rest. Mr. Crawford would certainly never address her so again: he must have seen how unwelcome it was to her; and in that case, how gratefully she could esteem him for his friendship to William!
She would not stir from the East room till she had satisfied herself of Mr. Crawford's having left the house; but when convinced of his being gone, she was eager to go down and share her joy with her uncle. Sir Thomas was as joyful as she could desire, and she had so comfortable a talk with him about William as to make her feel as if nothing had occurred to vex her, till she found that Mr. Crawford was engaged to return and dine there that very day. This was most unwelcome.
She tried to get the better of it; tried very hard, as the dinner hour approached, to feel and appear as usual; but it was quite impossible for her not to look most shy and uncomfortable when their visitor entered the room.
Mr. Crawford was soon close to her; he had a note to deliver from his sister. Fanny could not look at him. She opened her note immediately, glad to have anything to do, and happy, as she read it, to feel that the fidgetings of her aunt Norris screened her from view.
"My dear Fanny,—for so I may now always call you—I cannot let my brother go without sending you a few lines of congratulation, and giving my most joyful consent and approval. Go on, my dear Fanny, and without fear; there can be no difficulties worth naming. I choose to suppose that my consent will be something; so you may smile upon him with your sweetest smiles this afternoon, and send him back to me even happier than he goes.—Yours affectionately, M. C."
These were not expressions to do Fanny any good; for though she read in too much haste and confusion to form the clearest judgment of Miss Crawford's meaning, it was evident that she meant to compliment her on her brother's attachment, and believed it serious. Fanny did not know what to do. There was wretchedness in the idea of its being serious; there was perplexity every way. She was distressed whenever Mr. Crawford spoke to her, and he spoke to her much too often. She could hardly eat; and when Sir Thomas good-humouredly observed that joy had taken away her appetite, she was ready to sink with shame; for though nothing could have tempted her to turn her eyes to Mr. Crawford, she felt that his were immediately directed towards her.
She was more silent than ever, hardly joining even when William was the subject. She began to despair of ever getting away; but at last they were in the drawing-room, where her aunts finished the subject of William's appointment in their own style.
Mrs. Norris seemed delighted with the saving it would be to Sir Thomas. "Now William would be able to keep himself, which would make a vast difference to his uncle; and, indeed, it would make some difference in her presents too. She was v
ery glad that she had given William something considerable at parting, for now it would be useful in helping to fit up his cabin."
"I am glad you gave him something considerable," said Lady Bertram, with most unsuspicious calmness, "for I gave him only £10."
"Indeed!" cried Mrs. Norris, reddening. "Upon my word, he must have gone off with his pockets well lined!"
"Sir Thomas told me £10 would be enough."
Mrs. Norris, being not at all inclined to question its sufficiency, began on another point.
"It is amazing," said she, "how much young people cost their friends, what with bringing them up and putting them out in the world! Now, take my sister Price's children; nobody would believe what they cost Sir Thomas every year, to say nothing of what I do for them."
"Very true, sister, as you say. But, poor things! they cannot help it; and you know it makes very little difference to Sir Thomas. Fanny, William must not forget my shawl if he goes to the East Indies. I wish he may go there, so that I may have my shawl. I think I will have two shawls, Fanny."
Fanny, meanwhile, was very earnestly trying to understand what Mr. and Miss Crawford were at. Everything reasonable was against their being serious. How could she have attached a man who had been admired by so many, and flirted with so many, infinitely her superiors; who seemed so little open to serious impressions; who thought so carelessly, so unfeelingly on all such points, who was everything to everybody, and seemed to find no one essential to him? And could his sister, with all her worldly notions of matrimony, be forwarding anything serious in such a quarter? It was not possible. She had quite convinced herself of this before Sir Thomas and Mr. Crawford joined them. The difficulty was in maintaining the conviction after Mr. Crawford was in the room.
She thought he was wishing to speak to her unheard by the rest. She fancied he was trying for it the whole evening, whenever Sir Thomas was engaged with Mrs. Norris, and she carefully refused him every opportunity.
At last he began to talk of going away; but turning to her the next moment, he said, "Have you nothing to send to Mary? No answer to her note? She will be disappointed if she receives nothing from you. Pray write to her, if it be only a line."
"Oh yes! certainly," cried Fanny, rising in embarrassed haste and wanting to get away—"I will write directly."
She went to the table, and prepared her writing materials without knowing what in the world to say. She had read Miss Crawford's note only once, and how to reply to anything so imperfectly understood was most distressing. Yet something must be written; and wishing not to appear to think anything really intended, she wrote thus, in great trembling both of spirits and hand—
"I am very much obliged to you, my dear Miss Crawford, for your kind congratulations, as far as they relate to my dearest William. The rest of your note I know means nothing; but I am so unequal to anything of the sort, that I hope you will excuse my begging you to take no farther notice. I have seen too much of Mr. Crawford not to understand his manners; if he understood me as well, he would, I dare say, behave differently. I do not know what I write, but it would be a great favour of you never to mention the subject again. With thanks for the honour of your note, I remain, dear Miss Crawford, etc., etc."
The conclusion was scarcely intelligible from increasing fright, for she found that Mr. Crawford was coming towards her.
"I do not mean to hurry you," said he, in an undervoice.
"Oh! I thank you; it will be ready in a moment; I am very much obliged; if you will be so good as to give that to Miss Crawford."
The note was held out, and must be taken; and as she instantly and with averted eyes walked towards the fireplace, he had nothing to do but to go.
Fanny thought she had never known a day of greater agitation, both of pain and pleasure; but happily the pleasure was not of a sort to die with the day; whereas the pain, she hoped, would return no more. She had no doubt that her note must appear excessively ill-written, that the language would disgrace a child; but at least it would assure them both of her being neither imposed on nor gratified by Mr. Crawford's attentions.
CHAPTER 32