Monday 6 February
And so, Fanny and Wil iam are now wel on their way to Portsmouth, and I have put my day to good use. The farmyard has been moved, Jackson has finished the repairs and he has begun work on the chimneypiece. It is already taking shape, and I do not believe there wil be a better one in the neighborhood. The approach is now much improved, and I have given instructions for some new planting to shut out the view of the blacksmith’s shop. I hope it wil please Mary when it is done, for on her acceptance of my hand my happiness now depends. Saturday 11 February
We had a letter from Fanny this morning, and it drew a vivid picture of family life. I am certain it is not what she was expecting, for between her protestations of happiness she revealed that Wil iam had had to leave sooner than planned; that her mother had little time for her; that Susan’s free and easy manner with their mother was surprising; that her father’s oaths were alarming; that Tom and Charles were wild, and were forever running about and slamming doors; and that the house was very smal , so that everyone was always fal ing over one another, increasing al the arguments and chaos of a large family.
My poor Fanny! How I felt for her. But my father was very pleased when he read it.
‘It wil do her good to be back with them again,’ he said. ‘It wil show her that the pleasures of a gentleman’s residence are not to be overlooked, and that, as Mrs. Crawford, she wil suffer none of the il s her mother endures. No smal house or thin wal s; no troublesome servants; no curses; no lack of order.’
‘So that is the direction your thoughts are taking,’ I mused.
‘Yes, they are. I would like to see her provided for, comfortably settled, and with a secure future; for to remain here as a companion to her aunts is no life for a young girl. She is timid, and needs encouragement, and I mean to do al in my power to try and promote her happiness by helping her to overcome her shyness, and to ful y realize the advantages of the life she is being offered. Have you heard anything from Crawford?’
‘Yes, he sent me a letter. He is in Norfolk at present, having some business there. He is as constant as ever, and though he said little about Fanny, what he said was to the point.’
‘Good, good. I was afraid he might cry off. With so little encouragement, it would not be surprising. But it seems he means to have her, and if he wil wait a little longer, I feel al wil be wel . Did he see your sisters in town?’
‘No, but Maria has sent him a card for her party on the twenty-eighth, when she opens her house in Wimpole Street. His sister means to go with him.’
‘That is al to the good. A connection between the two families wil help his case.’
I did not say that I hoped for an even closer connection between the two families ere long, but I thought it.
‘Wil you be attending your sister’s party?’
‘If I am in London in time.’
We returned to the drawing-room, and I was struck by how empty it was without Fanny. I thought it strange that someone so quiet could make such an impression on the house, and that I noticed her absence more than that of my sisters, who were twice as noisy. Saturday 25 February
Tom echoed my father’s question, asking if I would be going to Maria’s party when I met him in London today. He invited me to dine with him and his friends and I arrived at his rooms this evening to find al his usual cronies there. The atmosphere was jovial and the wine was flowing freely.
I said that I was, and asked if he would be there.
‘I suppose I wil have to look in, but I do not intend to stay for long. I have better things to do.’
‘Better things in the shape of a sweet little actress,’ said Langley, drawing her shape with his hands in the air, and they al laughed.
‘Whilst your better things come in the shape of an opera dancer,’ returned Tom.
‘Have you a mistress, Bertram?’ asked Hargate.
When I said no, he said, ‘We must find you one.’
‘Edmund has no taste for mistresses,’ said Tom with a sly glance at me. ‘He is more interested in horse flesh. There is a certain lit le fil y that has caught his eye.’
‘Have you put a bet on her?’ asked Langley curiously.
Before I could reply, Tom said, ‘No, but I have put a bet on him. I think brother Edmund wil be lucky, and if he is, the fil y in question wil bring him twenty thousand pounds.’
‘Twenty thousand? What sort of odds must you have to get . . . Oh! Wel said, Bertram. A fine fil y indeed!’
I tried to get Tom to be serious but it was not to be, and the evening was spent in similar vein. The conversation turned to an outing on the river they were planning and Tom said, ‘Come with us.’
He would not take no for an answer, and I have promised to join him on Tuesday. Monday 27 February
I went to see the solicitors this morning and had a long consultation with them. I feel I am better prepared to take the step of matrimony, if Mary wil have me.
Tuesday 28 February
The day was unusual y mild and we spent a riotous afternoon on the river. When it was time to turn for home there was a good deal of confusion and one of the boats overturned. Tom fel in, I went with him, and the result was that we missed Maria’s party.
‘The weather is too fine to stay in town. I have never seen such fine weather in February, it is hot enough to be May! We are al going out of town for the races next week. You should come with us, Edmund,’ he said, as we changed our clothes in his rooms. ‘It wil do you good to have some fun for a change. You need not worry about Mary missing you. By al accounts, she is enjoying herself in London, with a constant round of parties and friends, and she wil not even notice you have gone.’
That was not what I wanted to hear, and I said, ‘I thought you had done with gambling.’
‘Always my conscience, Edmund? You may rest easy, I am not going to bet on a horse, I am going to ride one. Let other people bet on me,’ he said, as he stripped off his wet shirt.
‘And do you think you have a chance of winning?’ I asked him, not sure whether I liked this new turn of events, for although Tom was a good rider, some of the races were brutal.
‘As good a chance as anyone else. I have an excel ent mount, Imperial Caesar. You have never seen such an animal. Langley is lending him to me.’
‘Have you seen him race before?’
‘No, but Langley assures me the animal is a winner.’
‘And is Langley betting on him or against him?’
‘Stop worrying, little brother!’ he said with a laugh.
He tried to tempt me to go with him, but I refused, and after arguing the matter back and forth for some time, at last he accepted defeat.
‘If you change your mind, you know where I am. I wil be here until Saturday,’ he said. ‘After that, I wil not be in town for several weeks.’
When I returned, I found an invitation from the Frasers waiting for me, asking me to dine on Friday. So on Friday I wil see Mary, and discover if I am to be made happy.
MARCH
Friday 3 March
And so it has been and gone, the best and worst evening of my life. I took a hackney cab to the Frasers’ house and entered it ful of apprehension and hope, for although there had been no mistaking Mary’s indulgence the last time I had seen her, I was afraid that in London, with her fashionable friends around her, her feelings might have changed. My eyes ran round the room and when they alighted on her I thought she had never looked more lovely. She was flushed from conversation, and her eyes were bright. Her dress was the whitest silk, and her skin was glowing in the candlelight. I could scarcely wait to greet her, and made my way across the room to where she stood with her friend. She looked up; my heart leapt; I joined her; but as soon as I began to speak to her I felt a sense of foreboding.
‘You were not at your sister’s party,’ she said to me, when we had greeted each other, and though there was something playful in her manner, there was also something accusing there.
‘No.’
‘You were converting some poor old woman in Thornton Lacey, no doubt?’ she asked me in a derisory tone of voice.
Mrs. Fraser positively crowed. ‘See how he avoids the question! It was a young woman, I have no doubt.’
Mary’s lips set in a tight line. She did not seem pleased, and I was no more pleased at the notion that she real y believed me capable of making love to another woman in her absence, as Mrs. Fraser’s remark implied.
‘I was with my brother,’ I said.
Mrs. Fraser gave her a knowing look, and I could see she did not believe me.
‘It is a pity you missed the party, whatever the reason,’ said Mary, ‘for then you would have seen Maria in al her glory, showing us al round the house like a woman who has got her penny’s worth and knows it. It is a wonderful house, is it not, Catherine?’
‘It is indeed,’ assented Mrs. Fraser. ‘It is the best house in Wimpole Street. If Fraser would only apply himself more, we might have a house like that ourselves.’
Fraser, standing at his wife’s elbow, ignored this remark, and escaped into his wine.
‘Have you ever been in the house, Mr. Bertram?’ Mary asked me, playing with her wineglass and turning glittering eyes on me.
‘No, I have not.’
‘I was in it two years ago, when it was Lady Lascel e’s, and prefer it to almost any I know in London.’
‘Lady Lascel e made a good marriage. She has moved on to even better things,’ said Mrs. Fraser, in an aggrieved tone of voice. ‘But then, Lascel e knows how to rise in the world. He has ambition.’
‘Ambition! That is what a man needs above al things. Do you not agree, Mr. Bertram?’ asked Mary.
The evening got no better. Every word was a barb. If not for the fact that I was sure she was being led astray by Mrs. Fraser and her sister I would have left the house there and then. But I knew Mary was capable of better things. Her worldliness had dominated her worthier feelings in her early days at Mansfield Park, but since Christmas her more natural feelings had been in evidence. I knew she was not real y the cold, calculating creature I was seeing before me; her true nature was warm and tender and kindhearted. Her generosity to Fanny, her warmth to me, al told their own tale. And so I swal owed her insults and hoped for better things once her friend had left us.
‘And how do you like Mrs. Fraser’s house?’ she asked me, when Mrs. Fraser had moved on.
‘Do you approve?’
‘It is very elegant,’ I said, ‘but very cold.’
‘Then you do not approve.’
‘No, I do not.’
‘A pity. I like it here.’
‘You like the people?’
‘Yes, I do. Do you not?’
I looked around. They were dressed in the finest clothes and wore the finest jewels, but their glitter was al on the surface.
‘I do not believe there is one single happy person here,’ I said. ‘This is not the place for you.’
‘Do you want to save me, Mr. Bertram?’ she asked me in a drol voice. I replied to her seriously, ‘Yes, I do.’
‘But I am not one of your parishioners.’
‘I rather hoped you were more than that.’
‘Did you?’
‘Ah, my dear Mary,’ broke in a voice.
The interruption could not have come at a worse time, for beneath her drol ery Mary had been warming to my words, I was sure. But the arrival of Lady Stornaway put paid to any rational conversation, and gossip — il -natured gossip at that — took its place. And so I came home, less hopeful than when I went, jealous of the fashionable world with al its glitter and habits of wealth, and wondering if I had the right to ask her to abandon them. She was entitled to everything she longed for. But if she married me, even with our incomes united, we would not be able to afford the luxuries she craved.
If I did not believe she had some regard for me I would go, leave London and never return. But I am convinced she is not without a decided preference, and so I accepted Mrs. Fraser’s invitation to dine with them again. I cannot abandon Mary to avarice and spitefulness. If she pursues her present path she wil end up like her friends; wealthy, indulged and unhappy. I love her too much to leave her to that fate.
Tuesday 14 March
I am becoming a frequent visitor at the Frasers, and though I like Mrs. Fraser no more than I did, I am grateful to her for inviting me to her house so often. I could not get near Mary to begin with, for she was surrounded by a crowd, but as Crawford was there I lost no time in asking him about his visit to Portsmouth, for I knew he had been there, and I was eager to hear news of Fanny.
‘Ah! You have heard about that. I could not stay away,’ he said. ‘I meant to remain in town after my return from my estate, for I was hoping that absence might do its work, but in the end my need to see Fanny was too strong for me. I put up at the Crown, not a bad establishment, and was soon at the Prices.’
‘And how did you find them?’
‘Wel , al wel . Mrs. Price was very busy, but Mr. Price invited me to see the dockyard, then on Sunday we walked on the ramparts. How good it was to be with Fanny, so that we could both rejoice in the view. It was a fine day, hot for the time of year, indeed it was more like June than March, and I believe the fresh air did her good, for I wil not conceal from you, Bertram, she was looking less blooming than she ought. She misses the air of Mansfield, and counts the days she is away. Her family, alas, are a sore trial to her, lacking the refinement she is used to, and although she loves them, it is not difficult to see that their ways affect her nerves. I have offered to take her home at a moment’s notice, should it be inconvenient for your father to send the carriage, for I do not believe that Portsmouth agrees with her.’
‘Are you in town for long?’
‘No, I am going back to Norfolk. I have work to do there. I believe my manager may be trying to impose on me, and Fanny thinks, as I do, that I should make sure that everything is wel .’
My sisters were also there, and Maria said, ‘Fanny seems remarkably interested in Mr. Crawford’s concerns.’
‘Natural y so,’ I replied, but as she seemed out of humor I did not continue that conversation, but turned it instead, saying, ‘How are you enjoying London?’
‘London is wonderful!’ said Julia. ‘There is so much to do, I do not know how we survived at Mansfield. There are parties and bal s every night, something different al the time, and the company is very superior.’
‘Superior to what is met with at home?’ I asked her.
She laughed, and said, ‘It cannot compete with Pug, of course, but I believe it compares favorably otherwise.’
‘And yet I am very angry with you,’ Maria said, recovering her good humor. ‘You did not come to my party. It is a pity you missed it. It was a great success. Everyone said so. One of the parties of the year. The house was much admired, and smal wonder, for it is one of the finest in town.’
She said nothing of Rushworth, until I enquired after him.
‘Oh, yes, he is very wel . He is somewhere about,’ she said, looking round. I fol owed her eyes and saw them fal on Crawford. A cold look passed between them. I felt a moment of disquiet as I remembered what Fanny had said to me, that there had been something between them at the time of the play, and I wondered if perhaps Fanny had been right, for they did not appear to meet as friends. Maria said nothing, no word of greeting, but merely gave Crawford a nod, and I saw him drawback, surprised. I was sorry for it, for if she felt she had been slighted in the past, what did it matter? She was Miss Bertram no longer; she was Mrs. Rushworth now.
Crawford made her a bow and then moved away.
Maria recovered her composure and I listened to her continuing tales of triumph, interspersed by Julia’s remarks, for some time longer, until, seeing a space free near Mary, I made my way over to her. She was standing in a large group with Lady Stornaway. I waited, hoping for my chance to speak to her alone, but I became more and more disgusted with the conversation, for they were talking
about the chances of Miss Dunstan catching the eye of Mr. Croker, a man they thought very desirable, despite his reputation for drunkenness, because he had £20,000 a year.
I was about to move away when Mary detached herself from her companions and said, ‘So, you are here. How pleased I am to see you. You are enjoying yourself, I hope? No, do not tel me. I can see you are not enjoying yourself as much as you do at Mansfield. Dear Mansfield! I must confess, Mr. Bertram, that I miss it. How happy we al were there over the winter. I find myself looking forward to June, when I wil be there again.’
‘There is no need for you to wait so long. You wil be welcome at Mansfield whenever you return,’ I said to her.
‘But then I would have to disappoint my friends here, for I have promised to stay. An agreement, once reached, must be honored, do you not think?’
‘Indeed it must,’ I said with a smile.
I was about to lead her aside and ask if I might have a private audience with her, when Lady Stornaway joined us. Raising her lorgnette, she asked, ‘And who is this?’
‘Mr. Edmund Bertram,’ said Mary.
‘Indeed. You are a country parson, I understand, Mr. Bertram?’
I felt Mary grow restless beside me.
‘I am.’
‘Wel , it is not a bad beginning for a young man of your age, but no doubt you wil soon be tired of it and wil be seeking advancement in town.’
‘I can assure your ladyship that I am very happy in the country, and have no desire to make my mark in the outside world.’
‘Indeed? How very odd,’ she said. ‘A young man at your time of life has no business in settling for so little, when he could achieve so much. We must encourage him to enlarge his thinking, Miss Crawford.’
‘Believe me, Lady Stornaway, I have been trying,’ said Mary. ‘But, so far, without success.’
‘A young lady of your beauty, wit and intel igence wil not be denied for very long. What do you say, Mr. Bertram? It would be ungal ant of you to resist such loveliness, would it not?’
Edmund Bertram's Diary Page 18
