Chapter VII

by Jane Austen

　　"Well, Fanny, and how do you like Miss Crawford _now_?"said Edmund the next day, after thinking some time on thesubject himself. "How did you like her yesterday?""Very well--very much. I like to hear her talk.She entertains me; and she is so extremely pretty, that Ihave great pleasure in looking at her.""It is her countenance that is so attractive. She hasa wonderful play of feature! But was there nothing in herconversation that struck you, Fanny, as not quite right?""Oh yes! she ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she did.I was quite astonished. An uncle with whom she has beenliving so many years, and who, whatever his faults may be,is so very fond of her brother, treating him, they say,quite like a son. I could not have believed it!""I thought you would be struck. It was very wrong;very indecorous.""And very ungrateful, I think.""Ungrateful is a strong word. I do not know that her unclehas any claim to her _gratitude_; his wife certainly had;and it is the warmth of her respect for her aunt's memorywhich misleads her here. She is awkwardly circumstanced.With such warm feelings and lively spirits it must bedifficult to do justice to her affection for Mrs. Crawford,without throwing a shade on the Admiral. I do not pretendto know which was most to blame in their disagreements,though the Admiral's present conduct might incline oneto the side of his wife; but it is natural and amiablethat Miss Crawford should acquit her aunt entirely.I do not censure her _opinions_; but there certainly _is_impropriety in making them public.""Do not you think," said Fanny, after a little consideration,"that this impropriety is a reflection itself uponMrs. Crawford, as her niece has been entirely broughtup by her? She cannot have given her right notionsof what was due to the Admiral.""That is a fair remark. Yes, we must suppose the faultsof the niece to have been those of the aunt; and it makesone more sensible of the disadvantages she has been under.But I think her present home must do her good.Mrs. Grant's manners are just what they ought to be.She speaks of her brother with a very pleasing affection.""Yes, except as to his writing her such short letters.She made me almost laugh; but I cannot rate so very highlythe love or good-nature of a brother who will not givehimself the trouble of writing anything worth readingto his sisters, when they are separated. I am sure Williamwould never have used _me_ so, under any circumstances.And what right had she to suppose that _you_ would not writelong letters when you were absent?""The right of a lively mind, Fanny, seizing whatevermay contribute to its own amusement or that of others;perfectly allowable, when untinctured by ill-humouror roughness; and there is not a shadow of either in thecountenance or manner of Miss Crawford: nothing sharp,or loud, or coarse. She is perfectly feminine, except mthe instances we have been speaking of. There she cannotbe justified. I am glad you saw it all as I did."Having formed her mind and gained her affections, he had agood chance of her thinking like him; though at this period,and on this subject, there began now to be some dangerof dissimilarity, for he was in a line of admirationof Miss Crawford, which might lead him where Fanny couldnot follow. Miss Crawford's attractions did not lessen.The harp arrived, and rather added to her beauty, wit,and good-humour; for she played with the greatest obligingness,with an expression and taste which were peculiarly becoming,and there was something clever to be said at the closeof every air. Edmund was at the Parsonage every day,to be indulged with his favourite instrument:one morning secured an invitation for the next;for the lady could not be unwilling to have a listener,and every thing was soon in a fair train.A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp aselegant as herself, and both placed near a window,cut down to the ground, and opening on a little lawn,surrounded by shrubs in the rich foliage of summer,was enough to catch any man's heart. The season, the scene,the air, were all favourable to tenderness and sentiment.Mrs. Grant and her tambour frame were not without their use:it was all in harmony; and as everything will turn to accountwhen love is once set going, even the sandwich tray,and Dr. Grant doing the honours of it, were worth looking at.Without studying the business, however, or knowingwhat he was about, Edmund was beginning, at the endof a week of such intercourse, to be a good deal in love;and to the credit of the lady it may be added that,without his being a man of the world or an elder brother,without any of the arts of flattery or the gaieties ofsmall talk, he began to be agreeable to her. She felt itto be so, though she had not foreseen, and could hardlyunderstand it; for he was not pleasant by any common rule:he talked no nonsense; he paid no compliments; his opinionswere unbending, his attentions tranquil and simple.There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness,his integrity, which Miss Crawford might be equalto feel, though not equal to discuss with herself.She did not think very much about it, however: he pleasedher for the present; she liked to have him near her;it was enough.Fanny could not wonder that Edmund was at the Parsonageevery morning; she would gladly have been there too,might she have gone in uninvited and unnoticed, to hearthe harp; neither could she wonder that, when the eveningstroll was over, and the two families parted again,he should think it right to attend Mrs. Grant and hersister to their home, while Mr. Crawford was devotedto the ladies of the Park; but she thought it a verybad exchange; and if Edmund were not there to mix the wineand water for her, would rather go without it than not.She was a little surprised that he could spend so manyhours with Miss Crawford, and not see more of the sortof fault which he had already observed, and of which _she_was almost always reminded by a something of the samenature whenever she was in her company; but so it was.Edmund was fond of speaking to her of Miss Crawford,but he seemed to think it enough that the Admiral hadsince been spared; and she scrupled to point out her ownremarks to him, lest it should appear like ill-nature.The first actual pain which Miss Crawford occasioned herwas the consequence of an inclination to learn to ride,which the former caught, soon after her being settledat Mansfield, from the example of the young ladies at the Park,and which, when Edmund's acquaintance with her increased,led to his encouraging the wish, and the offer of his ownquiet mare for the purpose of her first attempts, as the bestfitted for a beginner that either stable could furnish.No pain, no injury, however, was designed by him to hiscousin in this offer: _she_ was not to lose a day's exerciseby it. The mare was only to be taken down to the Parsonagehalf an hour before her ride were to begin; and Fanny,on its being first proposed, so far from feeling slighted,was almost over-powered with gratitude that he should beasking her leave for it.Miss Crawford made her first essay with great creditto herself, and no inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund,who had taken down the mare and presided at the whole,returned with it in excellent time, before either Fannyor the steady old coachman, who always attended her whenshe rode without her cousins, were ready to set forward.The second day's trial was not so guiltless. Miss Crawford'senjoyment of riding was such that she did not know how toleave off. Active and fearless, and though rather small,strongly made, she seemed formed for a horsewoman; and tothe pure genuine pleasure of the exercise, something wasprobably added in Edmund's attendance and instructions,and something more in the conviction of very much surpassingher sex in general by her early progress, to make herunwilling to dismount. Fanny was ready and waiting,and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for not being gone,and still no horse was announced, no Edmund appeared.To avoid her aunt, and look for him, she went out.The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were notwithin sight of each other; but, by walking fifty yardsfrom the hall door, she could look down the park,and command a view of the Parsonage and all its demesnes,gently rising beyond the village road; and in Dr. Grant'smeadow she immediately saw the group--Edmund and MissCrawford both on horse-back, riding side by side, Dr. andMrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford, with two or three grooms,standing about and looking on. A happy party it appearedto her, all interested in one object: cheerful beyonda doubt, for the sound of merriment ascended even to her.It was a sound which did not make _her_ cheerful;she wondered that Edmund should forget her, and felta pang. She could not turn her eyes from the meadow;she could not help watching all that passed. At first MissCrawford and her companion made the circuit of the field,which was not small, at a foot's pace; then, at _her_apparent suggestion, they rose into a canter; and to Fanny'stimid nature it was most astonishing to see how wellshe sat. After a few minutes they stopped entirely.Edmund was close to her; he was speaking to her;he was evidently directing her management of the bridle;he had hold of her hand; she saw it, or the imaginationsupplied what the eye could not reach. Shemust not wonder at all this; what could be more naturalthan that Edmund should be making himself useful,and proving his good-nature by any one? She could notbut think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well havesaved him the trouble; that it would have been particularlyproper and becoming in a brother to have done it himself;but Mr. Crawford, with all his boasted good-nature, and allhis coachmanship, probably knew nothing of the matter,and had no active kindness in comparison of Edmund.She began to think it rather hard upon the mare to havesuch double duty; if she were forgotten, the poor mareshould be remembered.Her feelings for one and the other were soon a littletranquillised by seeing the party in the meadow disperse,and Miss Crawford still on horseback, but attended by Edmundon foot, pass through a gate into the lane, and so intothe park, and make towards the spot where she stood.She began then to be afraid of appearing rude and impatient;and walked to meet them with a great anxiety to avoidthe suspicion."My dear Miss Price," said Miss Crawford, as soon as shewas at all within hearing, "I am come to make my ownapologies for keeping you waiting; but I have nothingin the world to say for myself--I knew it was very late,and that I was behaving extremely ill; and therefore,if you please, you must forgive me. Selfishness mustalways be forgiven, you know, because there is no hopeof a cure."Fanny's answer was extremely civil, and Edmund addedhis conviction that she could be in no hurry. "For thereis more than time enough for my cousin to ride twiceas far as she ever goes," said he, "and you have beenpromoting her comfort by preventing her from setting offhalf an hour sooner: clouds are now coming up, and shewill not suffer from the heat as she would have done then.I wish _you_ may not be fatigued by so much exercise.I wish you had saved yourself this walk home.""No part of it fatigues me but getting off this horse,I assure you," said she, as she sprang down with his help;"I am very strong. Nothing ever fatigues me but doingwhat I do not like. Miss Price, I give way to you witha very bad grace; but I sincerely hope you will havea pleasant ride, and that I may have nothing but goodto hear of this dear, delightful, beautiful animal."The old coachman, who had been waiting about with hisown horse, now joining them, Fanny was lifted on hers,and they set off across another part of the park;her feelings of discomfort not lightened by seeing,as she looked back, that the others were walking downthe hill together to the village; nor did her attendantdo her much good by his comments on Miss Crawford's greatcleverness as a horse-woman, which he had been watchingwith an interest almost equal to her own."It is a pleasure to see a lady with such a good heartfor riding!" said he. "I never see one sit a horse better.She did not seem to have a thought of fear. Very differentfrom you, miss, when you first began, six years ago comenext Easter. Lord bless you! how you did tremble when SirThomas first had you put on!"In the drawing-room Miss Crawford was also celebrated.Her merit in being gifted by Nature with strengthand courage was fully appreciated by the Miss Bertrams;her delight in riding was like their own; her earlyexcellence in it was like their own, and they had greatpleasure in praising it."I was sure she would ride well," said Julia; "she hasthe make for it. Her figure is as neat as her brother's.""Yes," added Maria, "and her spirits are as good, and shehas the same energy of character. I cannot but thinkthat good horsemanship has a great deal to do with the mind."When they parted at night Edmund asked Fanny whether shemeant to ride the next day."No, I do not know--not if you want the mare," was her answer."I do not want her at all for myself," said he;"'but whenever you are next inclined to stay at home,I think Miss Crawford would be glad to have her a longer time--for a whole morning, in short. She has a great desire to getas far as Mansfield Common: Mrs. Grant has been tellingher of its fine views, and I have no doubt of her beingperfectly equal to it. But any morning will do for this.She would be extremely sorry to interfere with you.It would be very wrong if she did. _She_ rides onlyfor pleasure; _you_ for health.""I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly," said Fanny;"I have been out very often lately, and would ratherstay at home. You know I am strong enough now to walkvery well."Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny's comfort,and the ride to Mansfield Common took place the next morning:the party included all the young people but herself,and was much enjoyed at the time, and doubly enjoyedagain in the evening discussion. A successful schemeof this sort generally brings on another; and the havingbeen to Mansfield Common disposed them all for goingsomewhere else the day after. There were many otherviews to be shewn; and though the weather was hot,there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go.A young party is always provided with a shady lane.Four fine mornings successively were spent in this manner,in shewing the Crawfords the country, and doing thehonours of its finest spots. Everything answered;it was all gaiety and good-humour, the heat only supplyinginconvenience enough to be talked of with pleasure--till the fourth day, when the happiness of one of the partywas exceedingly clouded. Miss Bertram was the one.Edmund and Julia were invited to dine at the Parsonage,and _she_ was excluded. It was meant and done by Mrs. Grant,with perfect good-humour, on Mr. Rushworth's account,who was partly expected at the Park that day; but it was feltas a very grievous injury, and her good manners were severelytaxed to conceal her vexation and anger till she reached home.As Mr. Rushworth did _not_ come, the injury was increased,and she had not even the relief of shewing her power over him;she could only be sullen to her mother, aunt, and cousin,and throw as great a gloom as possible over their dinnerand dessert.Between ten and eleven Edmund and Julia walked into thedrawing-room, fresh with the evening air, glowing and cheerful,the very reverse of what they found in the three ladiessitting there, for Maria would scarcely raise her eyesfrom her book, and Lady Bertram was half-asleep; and evenMrs. Norris, discomposed by her niece's ill-humour,and having asked one or two questions about the dinner,which were not immediately attended to, seemed almostdetermined to say no more. For a few minutes the brotherand sister were too eager in their praise of the nightand their remarks on the stars, to think beyond themselves;but when the first pause came, Edmund, looking around,said, "But where is Fanny? Is she gone to bed?""No, not that I know of," replied Mrs. Norris; "she washere a moment ago."Her own gentle voice speaking from the other endof the room, which was a very long one, told themthat she was on the sofa. Mrs. Norris began scolding."That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away allthe evening upon a sofa. Why cannot you come and sit here,and employ yourself as _we_ do? If you have no workof your own, I can supply you from the poor basket.There is all the new calico, that was bought last week,not touched yet. I am sure I almost broke my backby cutting it out. You should learn to think ofother people; and, take my word for it, it is a shockingtrick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa."Before half this was said, Fanny was returned to herseat at the table, and had taken up her work again;and Julia, who was in high good-humour, from the pleasuresof the day, did her the justice of exclaiming, "I must say,ma'am, that Fanny is as little upon the sofa as anybodyin the house.""Fanny," said Edmund, after looking at her attentively,"I am sure you have the headache."She could not deny it, but said it was not very bad."I can hardly believe you," he replied; "I know your lookstoo well. How long have you had it?""Since a little before dinner. It is nothing but the heat.""Did you go out in the heat?""Go out! to be sure she did," said Mrs. Norris:"would you have her stay within such a fine day as this?Were not we _all_ out? Even your mother was out to-dayfor above an hour.""Yes, indeed, Edmund," added her ladyship, who had beenthoroughly awakened by Mrs. Norris's sharp reprimandto Fanny; "I was out above an hour. I sat three-quartersof an hour in the flower-garden, while Fanny cut the roses;and very pleasant it was, I assure you, but very hot.It was shady enough in the alcove, but I declare I quitedreaded the coming home again.""Fanny has been cutting roses, has she?""Yes, and I am afraid they will be the last this year.Poor thing! _She_ found it hot enough; but they were sofull-blown that one could not wait.""There was no help for it, certainly," rejoined Mrs. Norris,in a rather softened voice; "but I question whether herheadache might not be caught _then_, sister. There isnothing so likely to give it as standing and stoopingin a hot sun; but I dare say it will be well to-morrow.Suppose you let her have your aromatic vinegar; I alwaysforget to have mine filled.""She has got it," said Lady Bertram; "she has had it eversince she came back from your house the second time.""What!" cried Edmund; "has she been walking as well ascutting roses; walking across the hot park to your house,and doing it twice, ma'am? No wonder her head aches."Mrs. Norris was talking to Julia, and did not hear."I was afraid it would be too much for her," said Lady Bertram;"but when the roses were gathered, your aunt wishedto have them, and then you know they must be taken home.""But were there roses enough to oblige her to go twice?""No; but they were to be put into the spare room to dry;and, unluckily, Fanny forgot to lock the door of the roomand bring away the key, so she was obliged to go again."Edmund got up and walked about the room, saying, "And couldnobody be employed on such an errand but Fanny? Upon my word,ma'am, it has been a very ill-managed business.""I am sure I do not know how it was to have been done better,"cried Mrs. Norris, unable to be longer deaf; "unless I hadgone myself, indeed; but I cannot be in two places at once;and I was talking to Mr. Green at that very time aboutyour mother's dairymaid, by _her_ desire, and had promisedJohn Groom to write to Mrs. Jefferies about his son,and the poor fellow was waiting for me half an hour.I think nobody can justly accuse me of sparing myself uponany occasion, but really I cannot do everything at once.And as for Fanny's just stepping down to my house for me--it is not much above a quarter of a mile--I cannot think Iwas unreasonable to ask it. How often do I pace it threetimes a day, early and late, ay, and in all weathers too,and say nothing about it?""I wish Fanny had half your strength, ma'am.""If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she wouldnot be knocked up so soon. She has not been out onhorseback now this long while, and I am persuaded that,when she does not ride, she ought to walk. If she hadbeen riding before, I should not have asked it of her.But I thought it would rather do her good after beingstooping among the roses; for there is nothing sorefreshing as a walk after a fatigue of that kind;and though the sun was strong, it was not so very hot.Between ourselves, Edmund," nodding significantly athis mother, "it was cutting the roses, and dawdlingabout in the flower-garden, that did the mischief.""I am afraid it was, indeed," said the more candidLady Bertram, who had overheard her; "I am very much afraidshe caught the headache there, for the heat was enoughto kill anybody. It was as much as I could bear myself.Sitting and calling to Pug, and trying to keep him fromthe flower-beds, was almost too much for me."Edmund said no more to either lady; but going quietlyto another table, on which the supper-tray yet remained,brought a glass of Madeira to Fanny, and obliged her to drinkthe greater part. She wished to be able to decline it;but the tears, which a variety of feelings created,made it easier to swallow than to speak.Vexed as Edmund was with his mother and aunt, he was stillmore angry with himself. His own forgetfulness of her wasworse than anything which they had done. Nothing of thiswould have happened had she been properly considered;but she had been left four days together without any choiceof companions or exercise, and without any excuse foravoiding whatever her unreasonable aunts might require.He was ashamed to think that for four days together she hadnot had the power of riding, and very seriously resolved,however unwilling he must be to check a pleasure of MissCrawford's, that it should never happen again.Fanny went to bed with her heart as full as on the firstevening of her arrival at the Park. The state of herspirits had probably had its share in her indisposition;for she had been feeling neglected, and been strugglingagainst discontent and envy for some days past.As she leant on the sofa, to which she had retreatedthat she might not be seen, the pain of her mindhad been much beyond that in her head; and the suddenchange which Edmund's kindness had then occasioned,made her hardly know how to support herself.