Edmund Bertram's Diary

by Amanda Grange

  ‘She must become used to the idea of his being in love with her, and then a return of affection might not be very distant.’

  ‘It shal be as you say, but I only hope that she might persuade herself into receiving his addresses properly, before his inclination for paying them is over.’

  ‘He wil prove himself steadfast, I am sure,’ I said.

  ‘I hope so,’ was my father’s only reply.

  I was not a little curious to see how Fanny would receive Crawford this evening, and in the event their encounter promised wel . He came and sat with us some time, and I saw a softening of Fanny’s face, and a tenderness in her expression that led me to believe al would final y be wel .

  ‘It is a pity your brother has to go to town tomorrow,’ I said to Mary. She fol owed my eyes towards Fanny and her brother.

  ‘Yes, it is, but he has promised to escort me to my friend’s house and, having once delayed my visit, I cannot delay it again. And who knows? Absence might prove to be his friend. When she is no longer receiving his attentions, Fanny might come to miss them and welcome their return.’

  I thought it only too likely.

  ‘And tomorrow you are leaving, too,’ I said to her.

  ‘Yes, I am. You wil not begrudge me a stay in town? Mrs. Fraser has been my intimate friend for years.’

  ‘I could never begrudge you anything. I have already been more fortunate than I dared hope, for you were stil here when I returned after Christmas when I was expecting to find you gone.’

  ‘I should have gone, by rights, but when it came to it I found I could not leave the neighborhood whilst Henry was trying to fix Fanny. It would not have been fair to take him away at such a time.’

  But something in her eye and voice told me that that was not her only reason for delaying her departure.

  ‘I thought I would not see you again.’

  ‘Did you?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘I did. I thought you were lost to me. But now I hope we may meet often. I wil be going to town myself before long. Wil I see you there?’

  ‘I rely upon it. You must come and visit me at Mrs. Fraser’s.’

  ‘You may be certain of it.’

  There was time for no more. The evening was drawing to an end. Crawford was taking his leave of Fanny, who seemed sorry to see him go, and I took Mary’s hand and bent over it.

  ‘Until then,’ I said.

  Tuesday 17 January

  ‘Wel , Edmund,’ said my father, as we sat over the port, ‘and do you think Fanny misses Crawford now that he has gone?’

  ‘I hardly think three or four days’ absence enough to produce such a feeling.’

  ‘And yet she has been used to attention, to being singled out in the most flattering way. It is strange that she should not miss it. The attentions of her aunts can hardly compensate for the company of an intel igent young man.’

  What puzzled me more was that Fanny did not seem to regret Miss Crawford, for Mary had been her friend and companion for far longer than Crawford had been her acknowledged lover.

  ‘I wil be going to town in less than a fortnight,’ I said to Fanny, when my father and I rejoined the ladies. ‘Do you have any commissions for me?’

  ‘I cannot think of anything at the moment.’

  ‘You must let me know if any occur to you. And if you have any letters for Miss Crawford I can take them to her.’

  ‘You wil be visiting her?’ she enquired.

  ‘Yes, indeed. I am looking forward to it. I am persuaded that she, too, is looking forward to it. She wil be able to hear about you, and everyone at Mansfield.’

  Fanny said nothing.

  ‘You are very quiet, Fanny. Have you nothing to say of your friend? I thought you would be constantly talking of her. It cannot be pleasant for you to be al alone again.’

  ‘I have my aunts, and—’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And . . . that is enough.’

  My mother cal ing to me, I could say no more, but as Mama was happy to talk of Mary, I was wel satisfied with my evening, and could only have enjoyed it more if Fanny had confessed to missing Crawford as much as I missed his sister.

  Wednesday 18 January

  I spoke to Ingles about the field and although he said he did not want to sel , and could not let it go below an exorbitant price, I believe he was only bargaining and wil let me have it in the end. Monday 23 January

  Fanny’s indifference to Crawford’s and Mary’s absence has been made clear: she is too excited at Wil iam’s visit to have room in her mind and heart for anything else. He is to join us on Friday, and I hope that seeing him, newly promoted, wil make Fanny think more kindly of Crawford, whose good offices brought the promotion about.

  Friday 27 January

  Wil iam arrived, looking bright and handsome, and was ful of his new honor. He lamented the fact that he could not show his uniform to us, but he described it in enough detail to please even Fanny. I wished she could see it, but I fear that, by the time she does, it wil no longer be a source of such joy to Wil iam. A lieutenant’s rank wil satisfy him for now, but before long he wil want further promotion; his uniform wil seem like a badge of disgrace when al his friends have been made commanders. I only hope that by then, Fanny wil be safely married to Crawford, and that the Admiral wil be disposed to help Wil iam again. That would be a happy occasion indeed, if we could see Wil iam in a captain’s uniform. I said as much to Fanny, and she smiled, and said she was sure his merits would lift him to the highest rank. It transpired that Fanny wil settle for nothing less than seeing him an admiral!

  Saturday 28 January

  Crawford left a horse for Wil iam to ride and we went out together this morning. We had not gone far before he had a fal . Having ridden mules, donkeys and scrawny horses he was not adept at handling a highly bred animal, and came to grief whilst jumping a fence. The horse was none the worse, which was a mercy, or Crawford would have paid a heavy price for his kindness. Wil iam was unhurt, but he bruised his side and his coat was covered in mud.

  ‘Say nothing of this to Fanny,’ he begged me. ‘She worries about me; though if she could see the scrapes I have survived she would know I could survive anything! On my first ship I was swept overboard and was only able to climb back again by grabbling hold of a piece of torn sail that had washed overboard with me. By luck it was stil attached to the rest of the sail, and I used it as a rope to haul myself in.’

  The stories became more gruesome; far worse than the ones he had told in the drawing-room; and I was glad he had spared Fanny the details of his hardships and deprivations, and the rigors of Navy life. I admired him al the more for being so considerate, as wel as for being a brave man.

  ‘We can go to Thornton Lacey,’ I said. ‘You can wash there and brush your coat when the mud has dried. I can lend you a shirt,’ I added, noticing his own was ripped, for luckily I had begun to move some of my things over to the rectory.

  We were soon there and I took him into the kitchen so that he could wash. As he stripped off his shirt I saw there were a number of scars on his back and arms and he told me about each one; how a Frenchman had got in a lucky thrust as he boarded a foreign vessel; how he had been outnumbered and had had to fight his way out of a corner with his sword in his left hand; how he had been down, with a sword at his throat, when his friend had run his adversary through, and he had taken a cut when his adversary fel . And tales of a better sort: the deep scar on his right arm had come from his standing between his captain and injury; and the scar on his shoulder was from protecting the cabin boy, a young lad on his first voyage, who, because of Wil iam’s prompt action, had survived to make a second one.

  I gave him a clean shirt and once the mud had dried he was able to brush it from his coat before we returned to the Park. We found Fanny in the drawing-room, sketching.

  ‘I am glad to see you have taken Mary’s advice,’ I said, when I saw the fruit of her labors; explaining to Wil iam, ‘Fanny’s friend, Miss Crawford,
advised her to have a picture of you to keep by her when you are away.’

  ‘Now that I have my promotion, it is perhaps worth having, ’ he acknowledged.

  ‘It was always worth having, to me,’ said Fanny.

  ‘You should draw a likeness of Edmund,’ said Wil iam. ‘Your sketching is real y very good. Is it not?’ he asked me.

  ‘Yes, excel ent. Wel , Fanny? Wil you draw me?’

  ‘If you wil stil for as long as it takes, and not be off on parish business.’

  ‘I believe it can spare me for the rest of the day.’

  Wil iam stood by Fanny’s shoulder as she drew, saying, ‘A lit le more length here,’ or ‘a little more shading there,’ until it was done.

  ‘Very creditable,’ I said. ‘I wil have it framed, I believe, the next time I go into town.’

  ‘And perhaps, the next time I see you, you can sketch me in my new uniform as wel ,’ said Wil iam.

  Monday 30 January

  My father was impressed with Fanny’s drawings, and he has thought of a scheme to help her see Wil iam in his new uniform.

  ‘I am planning on sending her back to Portsmouth with him, to spend a little time with her family,’ he said to me. ‘What do you think of the idea, Edmund?’

  ‘I think it an excel ent one. I know she wil welcome it.’

  ‘Good. Then send her to me and I wil tel her of it,’ he said. When Fanny heard of it she was in raptures. Though she did not make the noise my sisters would have done at such delight, her shining face told me her feelings, and her swel ing heart soon gave them voice.

  ‘I can never thank my uncle enough for being so kind,’ she said to Wil iam and me. ‘To go home again! And to be with you, Wil iam, until your very last hour on land. And then to stay with my family for two months, perhaps three. Oh! never was anyone luckier than I.’ Then her face fel and she said to me, ‘But wil your mother be able to manage without me?’

  ‘Of course she wil ,’ I said. ‘She wil have Aunt Norris.’

  ‘But Aunt Norris wil not fetch and carry for her as I do.’

  ‘Then I wil do it for her.’

  ‘But you wil not be here.’ She colored. ‘You wil soon be going to town, and you wil have other demands on your time, other people . . .’

  I thought of Mary, and I was sure her thoughts had gone to Mary’s brother, for why else should she fal silent? I reassured her that Mama would manage without her, but she was stil perturbed, and it was not until my father reassured her after dinner that she was content. It is so like Fanny to be always thinking of others. It wil do her good to go to Portsmouth, where she can think more of herself. And if she marries Crawford — when she marries Crawford —

  she wil be able to consult her own inclination on almost everything. She wil have servants to run her errands, instead of having to run them for others, and everything in the house wil be organized as she wishes. She wil be a very happy woman before the year is out. Tuesday 31 January

  Having told Fanny Mama could manage without her, I was surprised to find that Mama saw it in a different light.

  ‘Why should she see her family?’ she asked, when Fanny was out riding. ‘She has done very wel without her family for eight or nine years. Why can she not do without them again?’

  ‘My dear,’ said my father, ‘it is only right and proper that Fanny should visit them from time to time.’

  ‘I do not see why,’ said Mama, picking Pug up and stroking him. ‘I am sure she does not want to go. Ask her, Sir Thomas. I am sure she would much rather stay here.’

  ‘She has a duty to her family,’ said my father, trying again.

  ‘And she has a duty here,’ returned Mama.

  ‘It wil be a sacrifice for you, I know,’ said my father, ‘but Lady Bertram has always been capable of sacrifice for the good of others, and I know she wil be so again.’

  This courtesy did little to soften Mama’s unhappiness. ‘I see that you think she must go, and if you think it, Sir Thomas, then she must, but for myself I can see no reason for it. I need her so very much here.’

  At this my aunt joined in the conversation.

  ‘Nonsense, my dear Lady Bertram. Fanny can very wel be spared. I am ready to give up al my time to your pleasure, and Fanny wil not be wanted or missed.’

  ‘That may be, sister. I dare say you are very right; but I am sure I shal miss her very much,’ said Mama.

  Knowing that my father would have his way and Fanny would go to Portsmouth, I blessed Mama for her words; it was good to know that Fanny would be so missed by someone other than myself, for I fear she is often taken for granted.

  FEBRUARY

  Wednesday 1 February

  Fanny has written to her mother, suggesting the visit, and now she waits for a reply. Friday 3 February

  The reply arrived, a few simple lines expressing so natural and motherly a joy in the prospect of seeing Fanny again as to confirm al Fanny’s views of happiness in being with her. She was brimming over with spirits as we walked in the park, making the most of a dry spel that has left the ground as hard as iron and the air as heady as wine.

  ‘I wil be much more useful to her than when I left, and now that she is no longer occupied by the incessant demands of a house ful of little children, there wil be leisure and inclination for every comfort, and we should soon be what mother and daughter ought to be to each other,’

  she said.

  Wil iam was almost as happy as Fanny.

  ‘It wil be the greatest pleasure to have you there to the last moment before I sail, and perhaps find you there stil when I come in from my first cruise. And besides, I want you so very much to see the Thrush before she goes out of harbor. She is the finest sloop in the service, and there are several improvements in the dockyard, too, which I long to show you.

  ‘It wil be good for al the family to see you,’ he went on. ‘I do not know how it is, but we seem to want some of your nice ways and orderliness at my father’s. The house is always in confusion. You wil set things going in a better way, I am sure. You wil tel my mother how it al ought to be, and you wil be so useful to Susan, and you wil teach Betsey, and make the boys love and mind you. How right and comfortable it wil al be!’

  Saturday 4 February

  My aunt was horrified when she heard that Fanny and Wil iam wil be travel ing post to Portsmouth.

  ‘My dear Sir Thomas, there is no need for it, no need for it at al . Only think of the expense. There are many cheaper ways for them to reach the coast,’ she said. My father delighted me by saying, ‘They wil certainly not travel any other way,’ and settled the matter by giving Wil iam the fare.

  ‘Wel , if it is to be, then it is to be. But surely,’ said my aunt, suddenly struck with an idea to her own advantage, ‘there wil be room for a third in the carriage. Do you know I think I wil go with them. I am longing to see my poor dear sister Price. I have not seen her for an age. I must say that I have more than half a mind to go with the young people; it would be such an indulgence to me; I have not seen her for more than twenty years; and it would be a help to the young people in their journey to have my older head to manage for them. I cannot help thinking my poor dear sister Price would feel it very unkind of me not to come by such an opportunity.’

  Fanny’s face fel , and Wil iam’s look of horror was comical. I could not blame him for his reaction. To be forced into such close company with my aunt, for such a period of time, would daunt even the strongest of hearts. Fanny retired, and fortunately my aunt changed her mind, so I fol owed Fanny from the room to tel her of her reprieve. I found her in the library.

  ‘Aunt Norris has decided that she is needed here. She wil not be going with you,’ I said.

  ‘Though I suspect that her real reason was a realization that she would have to pay her own expenses back again.’

  Fanny’s look of relief lit up her face.

  ‘My aunt is a very good woman, but. . . .’

  ‘Exactly. But!’

  We both smile
d.

  ‘Come, Fanny, walk with me outside. I do not seem to have seen anything of you recently. You are always closeted with Wil iam. Your old friends have had to do without you.’

  ‘No!’ she said in consternation, then saw that I was teasing her. ‘I see so little of Wil iam, I have to make the most of every minute when I see him.’

  ‘I wil let you go back to him soon, but I am selfishly claiming you for the next hour. I have no one sensible to talk to when you are elsewhere, unless it is about business, and I am tired of business. Tel me what you have been reading, and what you have been thinking, and what you have been feeling.’

  And so we talked, and I kept her with me wel past the hour, for we had so much to talk about. Sunday 5 February

  Mama was so downcast at the thought of my leaving: ‘You are al leaving me; Fanny, Wil iam and you’, that I have promised to stay another week or two. I was rewarded by a return of her comfort, and I told Fanny of my decision as we sat in the drawing-room, having returned from church.

  ‘I am not entirely displeased at the delay. The shops and parties in London wil have al the delight of novelty for Mary in the first few weeks, but I want her to have a chance to be reminded of how empty a constant round of pleasure is before I propose.’

  Fanny said nothing, for she had reached a difficult part of her work and needed to pay it close attention.

  ‘This is very companionable, is it not, Fanny?’ I said, watching the dancing fire paint a warm glow on to her winter complexion, and on to her white hands, which worked diligently with her needle. ‘The two of us sit ing here and talking together like this. Perhaps it wil be the last time we can talk together so freely. Who knows what changes wil have come about the next time we meet?’

  The coming change was in the air al through the house. After dinner, Mama said, ‘How sad it is to lose friends. You wil be gone from here tomorrow. You must write to me soon and often, Fanny, and I wil write to you.’

  ‘And I shal write to you, Fanny, when I have anything worth writing about, anything to say that I think you wil like to hear, and that you wil not hear so soon from any other quarter,’ I added, thinking that, if al went wel , I would be able to tel her of my engagement. I gave her an affectionate farewel , and she went upstairs, retiring early so as to get a good night’s sleep before her early departure tomorrow.