So he replied after some thought, and a look at Fanny that confirmed her willingness to stay with her cousin whilst in London: 'You are not expecting too much, Sir Thomas, Fanny and I will be honored to take you up on that offer, and thank you very much for thinking of us.' Sir Thomas laughed, and said: 'Oh, you will be earning your keep at first, for I have heard the house on your estate is decorated beautifully, and I expect your expert opinion on everything Edmund decides. He has a very simple taste, and I want this house to be the envy of every noble in town.'
Thrilled by the idea of spending many more weeks together, and in such a pleasant task as having a house redecorated, the two couples started planning the day's journey to Everingham. Fanny, removed from her uncle's presence, started to think again, and with the idea of all of their horses being at Mansfield Park at that moment, she suggested: 'Why don't we ride there instead of taking a carriage?'
And after trying to find fault with the plan and finding only minor difficulties, they added the improvement of a night's stay in an inn, and the conveyance of Mary's harp and their luggage with Henry's carriage, and everything was perfect.
There was only the difficulty of leaving Susan behind, but Sir Thomas had already decided by now that not another niece was going to be bossed half to death in his household, and true to his word he took great care to show Susan his love for his family, including herself.
He checked his wife and his sister-in-law in their less pleasant habits, and even spent quite a lot of time with his niece himself, improving her reading skills and helping her to find books and discussing their content with her. Of course he allowed her to read novels as well, for young girls cannot always be thinking great thoughts.
As Tom's health improved he was included in these sessions, for his father was convinced that reading would help him regain his principles, and from the start it was clear that Susan was totally different from Fanny, since she would brook no nonsense from Tom, and she would correct his temper without any hesitation. For as Fanny had found in her time at Portsmouth, Susan had an instinct for good forms and behaviour, and her uncle's lessons and a lot of reading gave her grip on them. Having lived with a brood of siblings, and parents she had always felt lacking in authority and decorum, and her personal energy similar to aunt Norris', she had everything within her reach to improve her cousin, and even though he was ten years her senior, his spirits had suffered from his illness and his reduction in status, and since she had no vice in her but only wanted to do him good, he was happy enough to be led by his spirited and friendly cousin.
Of course this only happened after Fanny had left her sister behind at Mansfield Park with guilt in her heart, but Susan did not reproach her with anything. She was happy to be useful and to have the means to improve her future, and they would see one another often on family visits.
Chapter 21
The three weeks at Everingham passed by in great pleasure and companionship, with only one remarkable event. As Fanny was listening to Mary playing the harp, she was as ever very sorry never to have learned to play an instrument herself. In the first natural pause between two pieces of music, she observed: 'How beautifully you play, Mary, it must have taken a long time for you to learn to play an instrument so well.' Mary, hearing the desire and regret in her sister's voice, said: 'I have been playing from the time I was twelve, but it is never too late to learn playing an instrument, dear Fanny. Your cousins play the piano, why did you never learn?'
Fanny was almost ashamed to admit: 'I'm afraid my aunts wanted me not to rise above my station by having the same accomplishments my cousins had.'
Mary tried to control her lively reactions as much as possible towards Fanny, knowing now her sister disliked them, and she was sorry to have caused her embarrassment: 'I'm sorry I asked, Fanny, I always forget you were treated like that, you have such refined manners. But there is no reason you shouldn't have lessons now, you have an excellent ear and a good taste in music, and you have the discipline to practice, so you could learn quickly.'
Mary could see that Fanny was uncomfortable again, and asked in her gentlest voice: 'There is something bothering you, why don't you tell me what the problem is with learning to play the piano?' Fanny, unhappily, looked around and said: 'We have no piano.' Checking the laugh bubbling up in herself, seeing no problem but realizing Fanny was seriously distraught, Mary observed: 'I'm sure Henry would love to buy you a piano, and hire you a friendly teacher.'
And as the words left her mouth, Mary realized that was precisely the problem, Henry would love to give it to her, but Fanny didn't want to have to ask for everything, have it handed to her. She wanted her own money, be able to buy things of her own, maybe even to give a present to Henry.
Thinking of her own situation, Edmund and herself were more equal, for
when Edmund asked her to marry him she had actually been in possession of the larger fortune. Of course as heir to Sir Thomas that was a different matter, but she had always had her own money, whilst Fanny had always been dependent on others, and frankly, having it rubbed in.
This was an important issue, that Fanny ought to sort out with Henry before it grew out of proportion, Mary was sure Henry would understand, and take suitable measures to make Fanny happy again. So she said: 'Dear Fanny, I think I understand, but not taking piano lessons is no solution. You have to talk to my brother about it, you have a right to your own money, even though the fortune is his.' This had clearly been bothering Fanny for some time, for she seemed to be almost fighting tears now, over something that Henry would never expect to become a problem between them.
'Please, Fanny, promise me you'll talk to him about it,' Mary pleaded, 'you're making yourself unhappy over something he cannot imagine, he has never been without money, so how could he understand your need to have your own? He probably sees his money as yours as well as his.' But Fanny couldn't promise anything, couldn't even say anything, she was that upset, so Mary decided to let it rest and wait a week to see if it got resolved. And if not, she would tell either Henry or Edmund, for she was not going to see her sister unhappy for absolutely no reason at all.
Starting on the next piece, Mary left Fanny to compose herself in peace, and soon after that their men returned from a rat hunt in a tenant's barn, an activity most gentlemen liked to participate in, but preferred their wives not to witness, due to its bloody and frenzied nature.
Even Edmund was in high spirits from the afternoon's activities, a situation he allowed himself to be in these days, because it afforded him pleasure and frankly didn't hurt anyone. They were hungry from their exertions, and in the bustle of their entrance, and the tea things being brought in, Fanny was only acknowledged with a friendly nod from Edmund and an absent kiss from Henry. Against her own reason, she started to feel neglected, and when Henry, still very aware of her need of regular small meals, noticed her absence at the table, he turned around to look for her, and found her seated in a corner, fighting tears.
Taken back in time instantly, to when he saw her like this more often than not, he felt his heart burn, and he knelt before her, pleading: 'Beloved, something is wrong, please tell me what is hurting you.' Any chance of controlling herself was out of the window at this heartbreakingly sweet
overreaction, and she felt tears rolling down her cheeks.
He led her to a sofa, food forgotten for the moment, and held her in his arms, the first time he had to comfort her in weeks, though of course he had held her several times a day for other reasons. And when she had her head on his chest, tears already dried for it was merely his sweetness that had brought them out, he said: 'And now, sweet Fanny, talk to me, tell me what is going on that you haven't told me.'
How could she tell him without sounding childish? He had been so good to her, and now she wanted even more. But he was starting to worry now, so she had to say something: 'Hearing Mary play, I remembered my regrets at never having learned to play an instrument myself. I would so have loved to learn play the piano like my cousins.' Henry care
fully controlled his face here, for the way his beloved had been neglected by an otherwise perfectly normal and amiable family could still make him lose his temper instantly, and he looked at her encouragingly. 'Mary said I could still learn, but..' Nothing further came out, so Henry completed her sentence for her: 'But you'd need a piano, and a teacher, and you don't like to beg me for them.'
She exclaimed at his term, but it was in fact what she had been thinking.
Henry now looked at her very seriously, and he said: 'My dear Fanny, you don't have to beg for anything. My money is your money, even though I know the law doesn't agree with me on that. My father left me this estate and the family fortune, and I'm almost ashamed to say I didn't do a day's work for it until I met you. I did not earn my fortune, Fanny, and only when I wanted to live up to your standard I started to take an interest in where my income actually came from, I put in the work and found a lot of things amiss.
I set them to rights, and now I can truly say I earn some of that income.
Thanks to you I feel I have a right to it, and it has actually grown markedly since I've put the effort in.
What I mean to say is, that though the money is mine in name, and you didn't bring a fortune into our marriage, I don't see it that way. To me, it is all ours, and you have a right to spend some of it as much as I do. You'd probably spend it more wisely anyway. But I tell you what we'll do, sorry, let me state that differently: would you agree for me to put the extra income my lands generate through your influence on an account, for you to use as you please?
To buy a piano, hire a teacher, buy me nice gifts?' The last was said with a cheeky face that made her smile.
He did understand. That was all Fanny could think of, even though he had
never lacked fortune he could understand that she had never had her own money, and wanted to be just a tiny bit independent. A small income would have been easier for her, for then she could have helped to manage it, have her share in it.
But of course that was not really true, she knew she had a very privileged life and she appreciated that. Having her own share of his fortune to manage, no matter how tiny it was, was all she desired. So she thanked him for his understanding with a crushing embrace, and immediately felt hungry.
Together they walked to the table and took their tea, and they had a merry afternoon with Edmund and Mary, the men describing the rat hunt and their own role in it. A rat hunt was generally a happening for which all the men from a neighborhood gathered, using terriers and ferrets to scare as many rats out of the nooks and crannies of a certain barn, then shooting or otherwise killing them in droves, protecting the hay and the crops until the next hunt.
Social standing was put on hold during a rat hunt, and for the young men of the villages and farms it was a good chance to prove their mettle to all the others, and have an informal chat with their landlord and his friends. After the hunt they would all share a few celebratory bottles of spirits that their landlord had donated to all the helpers, and they would meet again on another farm in a few months' time, to clear out another barn.
The ladies were interested in the goings-on on the estate, but they did not particularly care to witness the event, though a lot of village girls did come to encourage the men in their efforts. But besides the gruesome spectacle of a rat hunt, with the terriers and the ferrets out of their minds with blood-lust, and blood and dead and dying rats everywhere, the informality of the occasion was also something the gentlemen didn't want to expose their fair ladies to, for in the heat of the chase the men might talk or behave inappropriately towards them.
Later, Henry mused on the talk he and Fanny had had that afternoon about fortune and income. Fanny didn't know yet how much the very recently dismissed steward had let go to waste by mismanagement, and how much he even had managed to let drain away to where he would profit by it himself.
Henry had only found this out by thorough investigation, and loyalty from his tenants, who had finally come to trust their landlord over his steward, and he realized he had Fanny to thank for his increase in popularity with his people
and his influence on their lives.
He seriously meant to put everything she had saved him in that account, and that would make her an independent woman in about ten years. Should something happen to him before they had a son, or if they were never to have one, she might still be turned out by his heir, but she would not be destitute, for this account would be like a dowry, in her name only and unavailable to anyone but herself.
And because he would take the savings retro-actively from the moment they had started to occur, about four months ago, she would have plenty of funds to buy herself a lovely piano and weekly or twice weekly lessons straight away.
After enjoying Everingham in summer, they went to London, a bit sorry to be there in the summer heat, but they already knew several nice parks to have a shaded walk in, and the Bertram town-house was well-built, so it heated up slowly. They didn't go out as often, for there was work to be done, and it was incredible fun to redecorate a house.
They made a plan for every room, Sir Thomas had even selected a room for Fanny and Henry, to be their own every time they wanted to go to London, and they were to redecorate that too. It was quite an undertaking, not only making the plans and discussing them thoroughly, but also choosing fabrics and furniture, carpets and paints, and the right craftsmen to install everything.
Sir Thomas had only given them the finances, nothing more, they had to do the rest themselves.
Whilst they were in town, Henry and Fanny took some time to shop for a piano, which they would have delivered to Everingham immediately, and they visited the Admiral in his town house. Fanny had been rather apprehensive about the visit, for though Mary had not uttered any word of critique on her uncle again, and Henry was all praise of his uncle's kindness to himself, and most importantly, Fanny knew what Henry's uncle had done for her brother, she had still heard enough rumor to be as afraid of him as she had ever been of her own uncle, even before she had seen the poor man in person.
But to her great relief he was very nice to her, talking to her about her brother very pleasantly, and discussing Everingham with great interest. In Fanny, the old Admiral saw everything a man could enjoy in a woman, her sweetness, her gentleness, there was nothing in her manners to him that could provoke
his dislike, and whilst he still thought it an error of judgment on his nephew's side to marry so young, or at all, he could easily see the boy was very happy with his young lady, the younger sister of the young sailor he had liked so much because he reminded the Admiral of himself at that tender age.
They parted on the best of terms, with Fanny happy to have survived the ordeal, and Henry satisfied his choice to marry had been accepted without too much fuss.
Of course the work on the house made an enormous mess, and the men had to supervise constantly or the work would be done halfway, or sloppily, but after one week of designing and three weeks of work, most of the rooms were unrecognizable, they were light, fresh, furnished according to the latest fashion but not gaudy or so fashionable they would be unlivable for Sir Thomas or outdated by next year.
Henry and Mary had had a large share in the whole process, their minds seemed to automatically form a picture of what they were planning, so they could see it take shape in front of their mind's eye, which made their taste in decorating acute and unfailing.
Their own room, Henry had designed all by himself, and he had furnished it at his own expense. It was a perfect little nest for them, suitable for short visits mainly, but Fanny felt she wouldn't want to spend more than two weeks at a time in town anyway, she already missed the country and their lovely home, hoping they would often be able to receive Edmund and Mary there.
And so their lives started to take on their more or less definitive shapes, Fanny living with Henry on his estate, managing her own little household, helping him run the estate wherever possible, spending as much time together as they could. They wou
ld visit London occasionally to go to the theatre, but hardly ever more than two weeks, and always when Edmund and Mary were in town.
Edmund and Mary divided their time between London, Mansfield Park and Everingham, and of course Mary thrived on this variety of residence, as long as she had her even tempered husband at her side, her home being wherever he was. By writing long letters and timing their visits to London and Mansfield Park to coincide, the couples managed to stay in close contact with one another, and they stayed very close-knit.
Mrs Rushworth got used to her cousin being married to Henry Crawford, the
latter having lost none of his personal advantages, but most of his flattering gallantry, and becoming therefore less and less an object of regret to her. That didn't make her own husband any pleasanter to be with, but she soon got some distraction in finding herself expectant of her firstborn.
Julia could not rid herself of Mr Yates, whom she kept running in to, and inevitably accepted when he finally dared propose to her.
Sir Thomas was very happy to see that his eldest son was recovering, not speedily, but almost totally. To his amazement, Susan got along with Tom really well, she more or less nursed him back to health, and at the same time forced him to rediscover his principles and stick to them. Her dedication to his welfare taught him the meaning of selflessness, and she and Tom got very close, so close that Sir Thomas was prepared to be applied to by his son to allow a marriage between the two cousins, a possibility he did not regard with displeasure, for he believed Susan was probably Tom's best hope to ever find some measure of respectability.
And whenever William was in the country, he'd stay with his sister Fanny and her husband, also his friend and the firmest advocate of his career, until he met the woman he wanted to marry and they settled in Portsmouth near both their families.
And about half a year after their respective marriages, Edmund and Fanny had their longest head-to-head talk ever, in the new conservatory Fanny had commissioned to be built at the back of the house at Everingham. It was a beautiful midwinter day, with snow covering the valley below, and smoke streaming out of the chimneys of the cottages on the other side of the river.
Mansfield Park the Crawfords' Redemption Page 15
