Chapter 7
As they approached the house, Fanny's feelings became disturbed again, everything here reminded her of Edmund, of his mild manners, his unwavering attentions, even his physical beauty.
Though Henry pitied her, held her hand and squeezed it gently to remind her he would be there for her, he quite appreciated the entrance she would make on his side, looking as pale and drawn as this, frightfully thin, barely able to stand.
He was not a good actor for nothing, he knew drama and he was going to make the most of this moment, not for his own sake but for hers, they had neglected her scandalously, and they ought to suffer for it.
If her family had paid proper attention to her, she would not have sought refuge with her cousin, for to Henry, her dependent affection for her cousin, with whom she had been raised together as a brother, was not natural.
Usually children raised together did not fall in love, and he was convinced that Fanny had attached herself to Edmund because she had been starved of affection by everyone in her family circle except her cousin.
Now the carriage stopped, and Henry could see Sir Thomas waiting as well as both aunts, even languid Lady Bertram had come outside to greet her visitor, was this in honor of himself, or did they expect him to bring Edmund and Mary? For he was convinced they never thought of Fanny when not directly in front of them.
But there he was mistaken, for when Sir Thomas had recognised the carriage as Mr Crawford's, he had immediately suspected he was come to bring Fanny back to them, for Edmund had mentioned her sorry state in one of his letters.
He was in for the shock of his life, for when Mr Crawford helped her out of the carriage, she could hardly stand on her own two feet. Her face was emaciated, had lost its bloom, she was pale and sickly. Sir Thomas felt the situation as much as Henry could have wanted, and maybe even more, for with a cry of dismay he ran towards her, and very gently and carefully embraced her, clutching her to his chest, saying: 'Oh my poor dear, what have
I done to you? Had I known you were suffering such deprivations in Portsmouth I'd have come for you much sooner.'
Inwardly, Henry congratulated Fanny on this perfect excuse to have a good cry in public, which she must be aching for by now. Sir Thomas had never shown her any love, though he apparently felt it very much, and indeed Fanny could no longer hold back and let her tears fall freely, though quietly and in a very dignified way. No-one would ever suspect she was not crying for herself or for them, but for Edmund.
Now her aunt Norris greeted her with an indifferent kiss, and her most loving welcome was reserved for her aunt Bertram, who held her with tears streaming over her face, and told her how much she'd missed her, and that they would all nurse her back to health within no time.
Henry had never seen any feeling from that indolent lady, and her warm display of emotions touched him.
He knew Fanny was not half as badly affected by ill-health as she looked, this was all the result of extreme emotion, and to be expected, so it was with easy politeness that he greeted Sir Thomas, who said nothing of propriety, but only: 'Mr Crawfort, we are forever indebted to you for your kind services to our dear niece. I assure you, had we known she would suffer so much from her stay in Portsmouth, we would not have let her go, or fetched her back much sooner.'
Henry acknowledged his thank you with a polite bow, and told Sir Thomas:
'Thank you for your kind reception, Sir, we had hoped we would be welcome despite not having sent word.'
'My niece will always have a home here, Mr Crawford, she has been greatly missed by myself and Lady Bertram, and of course I have told you last time we spoke that you would be welcome here whenever you felt like visiting us,'
Sir Thomas spoke with great warmth, 'Will you stay with us, or will you take your abode with your sister and brother in the parsonage?'
With satisfaction, Henry replied: 'Thank you, Sir, I would love to accept your hospitality, if it is not too much trouble to put me up.'
Sir Thomas now gave some orders to the staff, and spoke to the whole party:
'Let us go in, for Fanny needs to sit down again, and there is a lot to talk about, we have not seen one another for a long time.' As they all walked towards the house, Henry took his place by Fanny again, offering her his support, both mental and physical, and he was loathe to leave her to her aunts
but he really needed to speak to Sir Thomas.
'Sir Thomas, might it be possible to have a word with you in private?' he asked in a low tone. That gentleman immediately consented, and even offered a perfect solution, heard only by Henry, Fanny and himself: 'Would it be all right if Fanny came too, Mr Crawford, I'm afraid I don't trust her aunts to be alone with her until I have made sure she is well. They have always had the habit of sending her on errands beyond her strength, and that would not do at all in her current condition.'
With a look at Fanny and an almost imperceptible nod from her, it was decided, and Henry replied: 'Yes, please, what I have to tell you concerns us both, and I value your insights on her current state of health.'
Fanny didn't say much, but then she never had spoken much when in the company of her uncle, so that gentleman didn't notice any difference in her behavior. And Henry knew everything in the house was assaulting her with memories of the time when Edmund was still object of her hope, he would be very proud of her if she managed to keep from crying.
He helped Fanny to her uncle's study, where he took her to the most comfortable chair that was not worn much, certain it was not her uncle's. She sat down, still silent, but not depressed, and Henry took the chair closest to her and explicitly took her hand in his, waited until her uncle was seated and then said: 'Sir Thomas, your niece has seen fit to accept my offer to enter into an engagement. I have explained to her that I have a sincere wish of seeing her happy, and that I wished to promote that happiness by giving consequence to all her wishes of a domestic nature, and by taking her to superior manifestations of culture, plays, concerts, and by exploring our mutual love of nature together. Though she has had to confess she does not love me as yet, she has consented to give me the means to prove to her that I want no other woman but her, and that I will do everything in my power to make her happy.'
Although this was not a common engagement, no intentions for marriage were expressed, Sir Thomas was extraordinarily pleased. If Henry Crawford loved his niece even in the state she was in now, and his open, though delicate display of affection towards her was sure proof of his attachment, he must really love her for her merits, for she looked close to death.
Sir Thomas had made some mistakes in his life, but sending Fanny to Portsmouth must be the worst, he gathered, not knowing the real reason for her pitiable state. Hardly daring to speak to the frail creature before him, he
asked: 'And, my dear Fanny, is this how you feel at the moment, did Mr Crawford describe your intentions well?'
Her voice was surprisingly strong, as she said: 'Yes, Sir, he described the nature of our engagement accurately. I know it is asking a lot of your trust, to let us go out together, but I hope you will give us that trust, in order that Mr Crawford can show me what it would be like to be married to him.'
Having made his decision, her uncle said to both of them, and not by far as severely as she would have expected him to: 'I will give you my consent to go out together, for I have a lot of faith in both of you, and I want to give you every chance of happiness in marriage. And I beseech you, Mr Crawford, to take extra good care of my dear Fanny, for she looks very ill and she will need a lot of attention to be restored to her former good health. Dear Fanny, do you want to rest now, or do you want to have lunch with the rest of us?'
What Fanny wanted most of all, was to explore the house, to look at all the places that might give her pain, and have that first encounter over with. And then she wanted to eat, and a nice walk in the park to finally see some nature again.
So she said: 'I know I look very ill, Sir, but what I need most is to be outside in the cl
ean air again, and to exercise on a regular basis. So I'd love to join you for lunch, and a short walk in the garden after that, but first I would like to see my old room again, and show Mr Crawford the house. Would that be all right?'
Her uncle was happy to hear her speak so decidedly, she might have come back ill, but her posture was more upright and her voice was stronger than he remembered, her engagement had given her consequence already, even though she might not have noticed herself. He felt rather secure she would want to keep that consequence, by indeed marrying Crawford, and the feeling that both his observations gave him, and the love he had discovered he felt for her on her sudden return, caused his tone to be positively mild as he said:
'Whatever pleases you, dear Fanny. I hope to see you in full bloom again very soon.'
Now they both received his congratulations on their engagement, and Sir Thomas said: 'I will not detain you young people any longer, take your time together, my trust in you is total so I will not stoop to checking on you, and when lunch is served I want to talk to you about Edmund and your sister, Mr Crawford, for it seems to me that this is a most fortunate circumstance, you
making a match of it so soon after the other couple.'
And that was that, they had permission to be alone, they had his approval, and what greatly surprised Fanny, she had her uncle's love, which she had never known before. She led Henry to her room, able to walk again now her first painful memories had been faced, and once there she sat on the bed and told him: 'I want to have it over with, visit all the special places, all the memories of my cousin's value and his love for me. It will make me sad, but I will have to face it anyway. Will you be very hurt if I speak of him a lot until lunch?'
Henry kneeled before her again, and replied: 'If it becomes too painful, I will let you know. Even if you were to keep silent, you will be thinking of him, that cannot be helped, so it is better to speak your thoughts.' Having witnessed the change in her himself when she addressed her uncle, his hope of her was actually rising. His unfortunate burst of passion had struck something in her, he felt he still had a chance, if only he allowed her to process her loss of her cousin adequately.
Her need for exercise would be a perfect way to be alone with her a lot, in a place where they must experience similar feelings because of their shared love of nature, in the perfect time of the year for reverie and optimism, the end of spring. Today, Henry would not fear the phantom of Edmund's perfection, though he expected to become quite familiar with him and quite soon.
But his was a very optimistic nature, and he had already stirred quite a lot of feelings in Fanny, feelings she had never known but was eager to explore. So as they went through every part of the house together, Fanny relating every kindness Edmund had ever offered her in the precise spot he had done so, Henry did not despair and found it even enlightening to hear what moved Fanny to love someone, for he could not but profit by the knowledge he gained in this way.
They had visited most of the house when the lunch-bell rang, and though her trip to memory lane had brought Fanny a lot of pain, it had also quieted her nervousness somewhat, making her more steady on her feet, and actually hungry. She did dread the moment when the talk would shift to Edmund's wedding, but she knew she would not need to say anything about it, she had never talked much on any occasion, and Henry would be there to keep up a lively conversation, for of course her own loss was his sister's gain, and he
must feel happiness for her, no matter how bad he felt for Fanny.
Her uncle had already arranged for Henry to be placed by her, which brought her a happier memory, and as they sat down she shared it with Henry: 'Do you know I always resented it when you contrived to sit next to me at the table? The frivolous things you used to say, and your excessive gallantry irritated me to no end.' Her frank confession shocked him, for though he knew now why she hadn't trusted him, at that time he had never had the slightest suspicion of her dislike of him, and he observed: 'And I never noticed, your manners were so mild and engaging, that even when you disapproved of me I thought you liked me. Well, and my vanity wouldn't allow any girl to resist my charms of course. Please believe me when I say I was a different person then. When I drove to London after I visited you at Portsmouth the first time, I started 'to realize you didn't love me at all. Only then, I'm afraid to say. And then I finally started to think, to think about what you might want in a man. Little did I know then how precisely you knew.'
As lunch was served, Henry kept a close eye on Fanny's plate, determined to take care of her health, as the doctor had ordered. She started well, but it was clear that she could not eat much at a time, and he planned to ask her uncle to have a bite prepared for her twice daily between meals, until she had gained substantial weight. He didn't press her to eat more, but hoped that a little walk and some time spent outside would cause her to feel hungry again soon.
And when the conversation started he understood why her appetite had fallen off so quickly, for the talk soon concerned the engagement of Edmund and Miss Crawford. Whatever her feelings at that moment, Henry could not make them out from the look on her face, she sat at the table as she always had in this house.
He remembered his own part in this, and soon congratulated Sir Thomas and his wife and sister-in-law on the happy match their son and nephew had made, adding: 'I'm very glad my sister has had the good sense to value Edmund's qualities, for she never planned to marry a clergyman, but I am sure he will make her very happy.' He felt a small hand reaching for his own, and with a little thrill he took it and squeezed it gently to support his own beloved in her time of need.
He talked a little further with Sir Thomas about the new couple's prospects, and tried to find out when they were planning to visit, for Fanny's benefit, and when Sir Thomas admitted to having no further information of that kind, he decided to write directly to his sister and ask her.
Chapter 8
They took a nice walk that afternoon, and wrote a letter each, Fanny to her sister and Henry to his own, and they resolved to mail them tomorrow, making the post-office the goal of an afternoon walk. After dinner, Fanny went straight to bed, and Henry sat with Sir Thomas for a while, detailing on how their engagement had come about, only leaving out Edmund's part in it.
Sir Thomas took it upon himself to tell Fanny's aunts of the engagement, and to protect her from their unreasonable demands. Aunt Norris took it badly, of course, but aunt Bertram was thrilled to have her niece make such an advantageous marriage.
The next morning they rode out together, Fanny on Edmund's mare, who was as well-tempered as ever, and Henry on one of Edmund's hunters, a feisty mare that needed more exercise than the staff could offer her.
And here Fanny again experienced the advantage of high spirits and a fearless outlook on life, for Edmund's hunter mare did her best to spook at anything, and tried several times to test Henry's mettle, but he just laughed at her antics and controlled her gently and fearlessly, riding large circles around Fanny and her placid horse.
The hunter mare had soon spent her excess energy, and with the excellent example of Fanny's horse before her she became more sedate, and they continued their ride together.
Fanny had been very much alarmed by the spooking horse, but when Henry didn't seem to care and nothing happened, she quieted again. She had never seen a horse behave like that, but of course she had never ridden with anyone besides the old stable hand who always accompanied her on her rides, and who rode a horse as good-natured as her own.
And to be honest, this fact sowed the first doubt about Edmund in her developing mind, for why had he never taken her along on one of his rides, why had he never shown her any of the sights within riding distance? He had ridden with Miss Crawford, but never with herself.
And Mr Crawford had been the only one to ever visit her in Portsmouth, and
he had sent her a long letter before Edmund ever wrote her one.
Fanny had never expected any of these things because she rated her own clai
ms too low for them, but somehow it didn't feel right anymore, how much trouble would it have been to include her in some of the fun he used to have with the young set? It would have prepared her so much better for her life, she might have met some friends of her own age. But she had always been left with the aunts, and he had set things to right afterwards, but he never thought of them beforehand, except that one time they went to Sotherton.
Her first critical thoughts ever on Edmund were broken by Henry, who suggested they go a bit faster than a trot, up and over the next hill. She looked at him aghast, she had never galloped before, the very thought had always scared her. Henry saw her look, and laughed merrily, and he pleaded her to at least try, not too fast, and he would stay with her all the way. Instead of oppressive, she now found his high spirits contagious, and though still afraid, she agreed to try.
He showed her how to change the gait, and off they were, the jolting movement smoothing out, and the speed increasing without making it harder to stay in the saddle. It was exhilarating, and she was amazed to see Henry looking at her over his shoulder, his mare choosing that moment to try one more time, shooting ahead like an arrow from a bow. He controlled her again, and with a look of pure joy on his face he was next to her again.
'Come on, let's go faster,' he pushed her, and she did, stuck to the mare like a burr, her riding dress streaming behind her, feeling the movement of the legs and the pumping of the mare's chest beneath her, up the hill in heartbeat. On the top Henry checked his horse's speed to a stride, and Fanny's mare followed suit, not a spirited creature herself and glad for a rest after such a burst of speed.
Henry asked: 'Did you like that?' She nodded, and said: 'I never dared to go that fast, but I'm glad I did now. It was exhilarating.'
He smiled and looked right at her: 'Are you holding up, not too tired?' and as she shook her head, 'we shouldn't go too far, you have not ridden in weeks, and never so far, you'll be stiff as a board as it is. Let's sit on this hill for a few moments, and then return.'
Mansfield Park the Crawfords' Redemption Page 5
