I begged him to be serious but he said that he was.
‘She is just the wife for you. Her fortune wil al ow you to enlarge the rectory at Thornton Lacey and keep a carriage.’
‘If she is to be rich and beautiful I am surprised you do not want to marry her yourself,’ I said.
‘God forbid! The last thing I want is a wife.’
But I find myself hoping he might take a liking to her, for a wife would be the very thing to steady him, and perhaps marriage would make him take a pride in his inheritance and give him a desire to work to preserve it.
Monday 11 July
I scarcely know what I am writing, for I have had such a jolt to my feelings that I am quite dazed. I returned from estate business this afternoon to find a beautiful young woman in the drawingroom. I caught a glimpse of her profile first and felt my pulse quicken, and when she turned her face towards mine, the hope flashed through my mind that Tom would not care for her after al , for she was the most charming young woman I had ever seen. She had bright, dark eyes and dark hair, with a clear brown complexion and a smiling mouth, whilst her figure was smal and dainty. She was a complete contrast to Maria and Julia, whose tal fairness, as they sat next to her, set off her dark loveliness like two wil owy reeds setting off a forest pool. But as I took my seat I found that Tom seemed to have abandoned his intention of remaining a bachelor, for he was at his liveliest. He was entertaining Miss Crawford with tales of his trip to Antigua and she was smiling and laughing. She seemed delighted with him. And how could she not be? For when Tom puts himself out to please, he never fails. And were he not half so amusing, his position as a baronet’s heir, with the added advantages of person and conversation, could hardly fail to please any young woman.
Tom at last turned his attention to Mr. Crawford, who happened to mention his horse, and the two of them began a lengthy conversation about the merits of their hunters. Miss Crawford turned her attention to me and to my surprise I found myself tongue-tied, but luckily her conversation was lively enough for two.
When I had command of myself once more I asked her about her journey into Northamptonshire and she answered me civil y, making the commonplace remarks about the roads and the carriage seem interesting and amusing. I was about to ask her what she thought of Mansfield when Tom caught her at ention and she was soon laughing with him again. I ought to be pleased that he has taken a liking to her, and she to him, but instead I find myself hoping that Tom wil soon grow tired of her, and that I might see a great deal more of her in the coming weeks.
Tuesday 12 July
Tom was ful of admiration for Miss Crawford this morning, saying that she was a very elegant young woman, and Maria and Julia seemed equal y struck with Henry Crawford. Wednesday 13 July
We dined at the Parsonage this evening. Fanny was very quiet, but nevertheless I believe she enjoyed herself, for she does not go out so often that it is a commonplace to her. Miss Crawford was very lively, and matched Tom’s wit with her own. I managed to speak to her, too, and found her as agreeable to listen to as to look at. The Crawfords are an addition to our circle, and their presence bodes wel for the summer.
Thursday 14 July
We have seen the Crawfords twice now, and on both occasions Miss Crawford has delighted me. She has such a lively way of talking and such dancing dark eyes that I can think of nothing else.
Mama and Aunt Norris are pleased with the Crawfords, too.
‘I knew how it would be,’ said my aunt. ‘Miss Crawford is as elegant and charming a young woman as you could wish to meet, and with her fortune, Tom, she would make you an excel ent wife. Her brother, too, is quite the gentleman. I thought him plain at first—’
‘Plain?’ cried Maria and Julia together in astonishment.
‘At first,’ said my aunt. ‘But after the second meeting I thought him not so very plain, and after dining at the Parsonage yesterday, I find I consider him to be one of the handsomest men of my acquaintance. He has so much countenance, and his teeth are so good, and he is so wel made, that he is a great addition to our circle.’
‘Indeed,’ said Maria, ‘he is the most agreeable man I ever met.’
‘But not so agreeable as Mr. Rushworth?’ I asked.
‘Of course our dear Maria favors Mr. Rushworth,’ put in my aunt. ‘He is everything that is amiable and amusing. Such manners, such an air . . .’
‘He is not half so agreeable as Mr. Crawford,’ said Julia, with far more truth.
‘And if I do not mistake the matter — which I am sure I do not — he finds you extremely agreeable, too, Julia,’ said my aunt, keen to promote this preference on the part of Julia. ‘A double wedding would be a very pleasant thing, with Tom marrying Mary Crawford, and Julia marrying Mr. Crawford. I am persuaded Sir Thomas would be very pleased.’
‘As to that, it would be a triple wedding, for I am already engaged,’ said Maria. ‘But for al that, there real y is no harm in my paying attention to an agreeable man. Everybody knows my situation, and Mr. Crawford must take care of himself.’
This speech did nothing to reassure me, but when I spoke to my aunt about it, she said,
‘Depend upon it, Maria is only paying attention to Mr. Crawford because she is cross with Mr. Rushworth for leaving her in order to visit a friend. He cannot expect Maria to stay indoors until he returns. I believe it wil be no bad thing if Mr. Crawford pays some attention to Maria, for it wil teach Mr. Rushworth a lesson, and when he returns he wil see that he must guard his treasures if he is not to lose them.’
‘Do you think he may lose them?’ I asked. ‘Do you think Maria is not real y in love with him? If that is the case, I should not have al owed things to go this far. Long engagements are never a good thing, and this engagement of Maria’s, unsanctioned by my father and not likely to be sanctioned for many weeks, is worse than most. It puts everyone in a false position. ’
‘You misunderstand me. I am sure Maria loves him but a woman does not like to be ignored, and it wil do Mr. Rushworth no harm to learn this fact. We al want Maria to be happy when she becomes Mrs. Rushworth, and not to find herself left behind whilst her husband goes roaming about the country.’
Rushworth’s going to stay with a friend for a fortnight did not seem like roaming about the country to me, but my aunt knows far more about women than I do, and no doubt she is right. Even so, I wish Papa might come home soon, for I am sure he wil be better at looking after his daughters than I can ever be.
Besides, I feel in need of some advice myself. I can think of nothing but Miss Crawford — but it seems Miss Crawford can think of nothing but Tom.
Friday 15 July
The Crawfords cal ed again today. Crawford had been intending to bring his sister to stay with the Grants and then leave the neighborhood, but he seems to find it agreeable here, for he said it was now his intention to stay awhile.
The day was fine and we were soon walking together.
‘You have an excel ent property here, Mr. Bertram,’ Miss Crawford said as she strol ed along next to Tom. ‘It has a real park, some five miles round, my sister tel s me?’
‘That is so, five miles exactly,’ said Tom.
‘I must congratulate you on it. There are not many so fine. Why, a mile or two seems to be enough for some people to proclaim they have a park, when real y it is nothing of the kind. The house, too, is remarkable. It is very spacious, and I like a house that is modern built, with none of the smal windows that make older houses so dark. The ceilings are so high, and the rooms so large, that it is a pleasure to sit in them.’
‘Then we must hope you wil grace it with your presence for a long time to come!’ said Tom courteously.
She inclined her head and smiled bewitchingly, and made me long to offer her my arm, which, however, I could not do, as she was clearly not at al fatigued and was instead very lively. She moved her hands expressively when she talked, and everything about her spoke of health and life.
‘You should have an engraving made of the house,’ she
said. ‘I always say that a wel -built house should be honored with an engraving. I am sure I have seen many smal er houses treated in this way, and Mansfield Park would grace any col ection in which it was included.’
‘I have always thought it a very fine house,’ said Mama. ‘Sir Thomas is very proud of it.’
‘And with good reason. It is one of the finest baronet’s seats in the land,’ said my aunt.
‘My brother tel s me you have a horse running in a race soon?’ Miss Crawford asked Tom. My aunt smiled at this, and exchanged a glance with Mama, who, however, did not appear to notice. But the meaning of my aunt’s smile was clear: Miss Crawford’s interest was not in a horse race, but in my brother.
‘Indeed I do! It is running at Brighton, a very fine animal and sure to win. Have you ever been to the Brighton races?’
‘No, I must confess I have not.’
‘Then we must correct that.’
‘Are they not a little wild?’ she asked.
‘Nonsense. Al the best people go. Why, the Prince of Wales himself goes. I saw him there myself, the first time I attended. It was when I was with my friend Frobisher. Do you know Frobisher?’
‘I do not believe I have had the pleasure.’
‘You would like him. He makes us roar with laughter. When we were in Brighton last we decided to go sea bathing and Frobisher swam off by himself. Then he gave a strangled cry, to make us al look at him, flailed his arms wildly and disappeared under the waves. We al swam over there and searched for him frantical y. Then up he popped behind us, laughing fit to burst at the expressions on our faces! You real y must come. I cannot promise you Frobisher, for his father has sent him out of the country, but I can show you the sights and take you to the races. You would enjoy it, I have no doubt. We could make a party of it. We could al go. What do you say to that, Mama? Would you like to go to Brighton?’
‘It is a very long way,’ said Mama.
‘Nonsense!’
The subject was discussed back and forth, but nothing was decided on by the end of the visit, and Miss Crawford promised to think of it more overnight so that we could resume the discussion tomorrow.
Saturday 16 July
The weather being fine we walked out this morning and the subject of making a party to attend the races was again raised, but the difficulties of finding enough carriages and arranging accommodation made it clear that the matter would only do to be talked of, for realizing it was beyond our reach.
Fanny was soon tired and I offered her my arm, but Crawford was too quick for me, saying that he would escort her back to the house. Maria and Julia went with them, though I believe Julia would have stayed if Maria had not made a very pointed remark about needing her, leaving Tom, Miss Crawford and me to continue our walk.
‘I begin now to understand you al , except Miss Price,’ said Miss Crawford to me, as we wandered through the shrubbery. ‘Pray, is she out, or is she not? I am puzzled. She dined at the Parsonage, with the rest of you, which seemed like being out; and yet she says so little, that I can hardly suppose she is.’
‘I believe I know what you mean, but I wil not undertake to answer the question. My cousin is grown-up. She has the age and sense of a woman, but the outs and not outs are beyond me,’ I replied.
‘And yet, in general, nothing can be more easily ascertained. The distinction is so broad. Manners as wel as appearance are, general y speaking, so total y dif erent. Til now, I could not have supposed it possible to be mistaken as to a girl’s being out or not. A girl not out has always the same sort of dress: a close bonnet, for instance; looks very demure, and never says a word. You may smile, but it is so, I assure you; and except that it is sometimes carried a little too far, it is al very proper. Girls should be quiet and modest. The most objectionable part is, that the alteration of manners on being introduced into company is frequently too sudden. They sometimes pass in such very little time from reserve to quite the opposite — to confidence! That is the faulty part of the present system. One does not like to see a girl of eighteen or nineteen so immediately up to everything — and perhaps when one has seen her hardly able to speak the year before. Mr. Bertram, I dare say you have sometimes met with such changes.’
‘I believe I have, but this is hardly fair; I see what you are at. You are quizzing me about Miss Anderson,’ said Tom.
‘No, indeed. Miss Anderson! I do not know who or what you mean. I am quite in the dark. But I wil quiz you with a great deal of pleasure, if you wil tel me what about.’
‘Ah! you carry it off very wel , but I cannot be quite so far imposed on. You must have had Miss Anderson in your eye, in describing an altered young lady. You paint too accurately for mistake. It was exactly so. The Andersons of Baker Street. We were speaking of them the other day, you know. Edmund, you have heard me mention Charles Anderson. The circumstance was precisely as this lady has represented it. When Anderson first introduced me to his family, about two years ago, his sister was not out, and I could not get her to speak to me. I sat there an hour one morning waiting for Anderson, with only her and a little girl or two in the room, the governess being sick or run away, and the mother in and out every moment with letters of business, and I could hardly get a word or a look from the young lady — nothing like a civil answer — she screwed up her mouth, and turned from me with such an air! I did not see her again for a twelvemonth. She was then out. I met her at Mrs. Holford’s, and did not recol ect her. She came up to me, claimed me as an acquaintance, stared me out of countenance; and talked and laughed til I did not know which way to look. I felt that I must be the jest of the room at the time, and Miss Crawford, it is plain, has heard the story.’
‘And a very pretty story it is, and with more truth in it, I dare say, than does credit to Miss Anderson. It is too common a fault. Mothers certainly have not yet got quite the right way of managing their daughters. I do not know where the error lies. I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see that they are often wrong.’
‘Those who are showing the world what female manners should be, are doing a great deal to set them right,’ said Tom gal antly.
‘The error is plain enough, such girls are il brought up. They are given wrong notions from the beginning. They are always acting upon motives of vanity, and there is no more real modesty in their behavior before they appear in public than afterwards,’ I said, for the business seemed clear to me.
‘I do not know, I cannot agree with you there,’ said Miss Crawford. Turning back to Tom, she said, ‘It is much worse to have girls not out give themselves the same airs and take the same liberties as if they were, which I have seen done. That is worse than anything — quite disgusting!’
‘Yes, that is very inconvenient indeed,’ agreed Tom. ‘It leads one astray; one does not know what to do. The close bonnet and demure air you describe so wel (and nothing was ever juster) tel one what is expected; but I got into a dreadful scrape last year from the want of them. I went down to Rams-gate for a week with a friend . . .’
And he embarked on another anecdote, which entertained Miss Crawford no less than the first. I searched my memory for something light and amusing with which to entertain her, but my years spent looking after the estate had given me no such diverting moments, and I was pleased when at last the conversation returned to Fanny.
‘But now I must be satisfied about Miss Price,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘Does she go to bal s? Does she dine out everywhere, as wel as at my sister’s?’
‘I do not think she has ever been to a bal ,’ I said.
‘Oh, then the point is clear. Miss Price is not out.’
I could not help thinking about the matter further, though, when Miss Crawford left us. Fanny is eighteen, and my sisters were both attending bal s by that age, schooled in what was expected of them by Mama and my aunt. But for some reason Fanny had been overlooked. I raised the point with my aunt, who said only that she was sure Fanny had no notion of being brought out, and Mama, who said that Fanny was too young,
for she was not strong and so it was unsuitable for her to be brought out as early as my sisters.
‘Besides,’ she said, ‘I need Fanny to stay with me when you al go to a bal . I could not do without Fanny.’
I think, for the time being, I wil say no more, but I wil not have her neglected, and once my father returns I mean to broach the subject with him. Fanny must have her share of the pleasures as wel as everyone else, and as Mama wil no longer be lonely when Papa returns it wil then be the time for Fanny to start going into society.
Monday 18 July
Tom left for Brighton this morning. He went early, saying to me, ‘Never fear, I have promised Papa not to gamble, and I mean to keep my word. I am a reformed character!’
I gave him a look, but he only laughed, and then he was on his way. He showed no regret at leaving Miss Crawford, and as he had never once talked of abandoning his trip so that he might spend more time with her, I believe he is not serious in his feelings for her.
To my relief, Miss Crawford does not seem to be serious in her feelings for him, either. I thought she would be in low spirits at his departure, but when she and her brother cal ed on us this afternoon she was ‘bright as the day, and like the morning, fair’.
‘And are you missing your brother?’ Miss Crawford asked Julia, as we walked out in the grounds.
‘Not in the least,’ said Julia.
‘And you, Mr. Bertram?’ she asked me. ‘How wel that sounds,’ she mused, ‘for now that your brother is away, you are no longer Mr. Edmund Bertram, but Mr. Bertram. Wil you miss your brother?’
‘I wil not have time, for he wil be home again in a few weeks,’ I said.
‘Very true. I should not miss my brother if he were to go away, as he talks of doing, to look after his estate, but perhaps others here would.’
Maria said politely that of course he must be missed if he went, whereupon Crawford said that his going was by no means certain, and that as he had only himself to please, and as Mrs. Grant pressed him to stay, he believed his estate could do without him a little longer. I was pleased for Miss Crawford’s sake. She and her brother are close, and I know she enjoys his company, for al her teasing: smal wonder, when she has neither mother nor father, and only a half sister in Mrs. Grant.
Edmund Bertram's Diary Page 5
