A week was gone since Edmund might be supposed to be in London, and Fanny had heard nothing of him. Either his going had been again delayed, or he had as yet found no opportunity of seeing Miss Crawford alone, or he was too happy for letter-writing!
One morning, Fanny having now been nearly four weeks from Mansfield, a point which she never failed to calculate every day, there was the knock of a visitor.
It was a gentleman's voice; it was a voice that Fanny was just turning pale about, when Mr. Crawford walked into the room.
Good sense will always act when really called upon; and she found that she had been able to name him to her mother, as "William's friend," though she could not have believed herself capable of uttering a syllable. Having introduced him, however, her terror of what this visit might lead to became overpowering, and she fancied herself on the point of fainting.
Their visitor was wisely and kindly keeping his eyes away, giving her time to recover, while he devoted himself entirely to her mother, addressing her with the utmost politeness and propriety.
Mrs. Price's manners were also at their best. Warmed by the sight of such a friend to her son, and wishing to appear to advantage, she was overflowing with gratitude. Mr. Price was out, which she regretted very much. Fanny did not; for she felt ashamed of her home, and she would have been yet more ashamed of her father than of all the rest.
They talked of William; and Mr. Crawford was as warm in his commendation as even Mrs Price could wish. She felt that she had never seen so agreeable a man; and was only astonished to find that it was no port-admiral, or any object of importance and wealth, that had brought him to Portsmouth. He had come for a day or two, was staying at the Crown, had accidentally met with a navy officer or two of his acquaintance, but had no object of that kind in coming.
By the time he had given all this information, Fanny was able to bear his gaze, and hear that he had spent half an hour with his sister the evening before his leaving London; that she had sent her best love, but had had no time for writing; that he thought himself lucky in seeing Mary for even half an hour, having spent scarcely twenty-four hours in London; that her cousin Edmund had been in town, he understood, a few days; that he had not seen him, but that Edmund was well, had left them all well at Mansfield, and was to dine, as yesterday, with Mary and the Frasers.
Fanny listened collectedly, even to the last-mentioned circumstance; nay, it seemed a relief; and "then by this time it is all settled," passed internally, without more evidence of emotion than a faint blush.
After talking a little more about Mansfield, Crawford began to hint at the convenience of an early walk. "It was a lovely morning, and at that season a fine morning so often changed, that it was wisest for everybody not to delay their exercise". Such hints producing nothing, he proceeded to a positive recommendation to Mrs. Price and her daughters to take their walk. But Mrs. Price, it appeared, scarcely ever stirred out of doors, except of a Sunday. "Would she not, then, persuade her daughters to take advantage of such weather, and allow him the pleasure of attending them?"
Mrs. Price agreed. "She knew they had some errands in the town, which they would be very glad to do." And the consequence was, that Fanny, strange and distressing as it was, found herself and Susan, within ten minutes, walking towards the High Street with Mr. Crawford.
They were hardly there before they met her father, whose appearance was not the better from its being Saturday. He stopped; and Fanny was obliged to introduce him to Mr. Crawford.
She could not have a doubt of how Mr. Crawford must be struck. He must be ashamed and disgusted altogether. He must soon cease to have the smallest inclination for the match; and yet this cure would be almost as bad as the complaint. I believe there is scarcely a young lady living who would not rather put up with the misfortune of being sought by a clever, agreeable man, than have him driven away by the vulgarity of her relations.
However, (as Fanny instantly, and to her great relief, discerned) her father was a very different man in his behaviour to this highly respected stranger, from what he was at home. His manners were more than passable: they were grateful, animated, manly; his loud tones did very well in the open air, and there was not a single oath to be heard. Such was his instinctive compliment to the good manners of Mr. Crawford; and Fanny's feelings were infinitely soothed.
Mr. Price offered to take Mr. Crawford into the dockyard: Mr. Crawford, though he had seen the dockyard before, was still grateful to accept, hoping to be so much the longer with Fanny. Mr. Price would have turned thither directly, without the smallest consideration for his daughters' errands in the High Street. Mr Crawford took care, however, that they should be allowed to go to the shops they came to visit.
They then set forward for the dockyard, and the walk would have been conducted in a singular manner, had Mr. Price been allowed the regulation of it, as the two girls would have been left to follow, and keep up with the gentlemen or not, as they could. Mr Crawford was able to introduce some improvement; he would not walk away from them, and at any crossing, when Mr. Price was calling out, "Come, girls; come, Fan; come, Sue; keep a sharp lookout!" he would give them his particular attendance.
Once in the dockyard, he hoped for some happy conversation with Fanny, as they were joined by a brother lounger of Mr. Price's, who must prove a more worthy companion than himself; and the two officers seemed very well satisfied going about together, while the young people sat down upon some timbers in the yard.
Fanny was most conveniently in want of rest. Crawford could not have wished her more ready to sit down; but he could have wished her sister away. A quick-looking girl of Susan's age was the very worst third in the world: totally different from Lady Bertram, all eyes and ears; and there was no introducing the main point before her. He must content himself with being generally agreeable, and letting Susan have her share of entertainment, with a hint, now and then, for Fanny.
Norfolk was what he mostly talked of. Such a man could come from no place, without importing something to amuse; his journeys and his acquaintances entertained Susan in a way quite new to her.
For Fanny’s approval, he gave the reason of his going into Norfolk at this unusual time of year. It related to the renewal of a lease in which the welfare of a large family was at stake. He had suspected his agent of some underhand dealing; and he had determined to go himself, and thoroughly investigate the case. He had gone, had done even more good than he had foreseen, and was now able to congratulate himself. He had introduced himself to some tenants whom he had never seen before; and he had made acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been unknown to him.
This was aimed at Fanny. It was pleasing to hear him speak so properly; here he had been acting as he ought. To be the friend of the poor and the oppressed! She was on the point of giving him an approving look, when it was frightened off by his adding pointedly that he hoped soon to have a friend and guide in every plan of charity for Everingham.
She turned away, and wished he would not say such things. She began to feel the possibility of his turning out well at last; but he was and must ever be completely unsuited to her.
He perceived that enough had been said of Everingham, and turned to Mansfield. He could not have chosen better; that was a topic to bring back her attention instantly. She felt it the voice of a friend when he mentioned it, and by his honourable tribute to its inhabitants allowed her to gratify her own heart, in speaking of her uncle as all that was clever and good, and her aunt as having the sweetest of tempers.
He had a great attachment to Mansfield himself, he said; he hoped to spend much of his time there, or in the neighbourhood. He predicted a very happy summer and autumn there this year; he felt that it would be infinitely superior to the last.
"Mansfield, Sotherton, Thornton Lacey," he continued; "what a society will be comprised in those houses! And at Michaelmas, perhaps, a fourth may be added: some small hunting-box; for as to any partnership in Thornton Lacey, as Edmund Bertram onc
e good-humouredly proposed, I hope I foresee two objections: two fair, excellent, irresistible objections to that plan."
Fanny was doubly silenced here; though she regretted that she had not encouraged him to say more of his sister and Edmund. It was a subject which she must learn to speak of.
By now, all were ready to return; and during their walk back, Mr. Crawford contrived a minute's privacy for telling Fanny that his only business in Portsmouth was to see her; it was on her account, because he could not endure a longer separation. She was really sorry; and yet in spite of this, she thought him improved since she had seen him; he was much more gentle, obliging, and attentive to other people's feelings than he had ever been at Mansfield; she had never seen him so near being agreeable. He was decidedly improved. She wished he had come only for one day; but it was not so very bad: the pleasure of talking of Mansfield was so great!
Her father asked him to do them the honour of taking his mutton with them, and Fanny had time for only one thrill of horror, before he declared himself prevented by a prior engagement. He should, however, wait on them again on the morrow, and so they parted—Fanny thankful to escape so horrible an evil!
To have had him join their family dinner-party, and see all their deficiencies, would have been dreadful! Fanny was not yet inured to Rebecca's cookery and Rebecca's waiting, and Betsey's eating at table without restraint, and pulling everything about as she chose.
CHAPTER 42