Chapter XIX

by Jane Austen

　　How is the consternation of the party to be described?To the greater number it was a moment of absolute horror.Sir Thomas in the house! All felt the instantaneous conviction.Not a hope of imposition or mistake was harboured anywhere.Julia's looks were an evidence of the fact that madeit indisputable; and after the first starts and exclamations,not a word was spoken for half a minute: each withan altered countenance was looking at some other,and almost each was feeling it a stroke the most unwelcome,most ill-timed, most appalling! Mr. Yates might considerit only as a vexatious interruption for the evening,and Mr. Rushworth might imagine it a blessing; but everyother heart was sinking under some degree of self-condemnationor undefined alarm, every other heart was suggesting,"What will become of us? what is to be done now?"It was a terrible pause; and terrible to every ear were thecorroborating sounds of opening doors and passing footsteps.Julia was the first to move and speak again. Jealousy andbitterness had been suspended: selfishness was lostin the common cause; but at the moment of her appearance,Frederick was listening with looks of devotion toAgatha's narrative, and pressing her hand to his heart;and as soon as she could notice this, and see that,in spite of the shock of her words, he still kept hisstation and retained her sister's hand, her woundedheart swelled again with injury, and looking as redas she had been white before, she turned out of the room,saying, "_I_ need not be afraid of appearing before him."Her going roused the rest; and at the same momentthe two brothers stepped forward, feeling the necessityof doing something. A very few words between themwere sufficient. The case admitted no differenceof opinion: they must go to the drawing-room directly.Maria joined them with the same intent, just then thestoutest of the three; for the very circumstance whichhad driven Julia away was to her the sweetest support.Henry Crawford's retaining her hand at such a moment,a moment of such peculiar proof and importance,was worth ages of doubt and anxiety. She hailed itas an earnest of the most serious determination, and wasequal even to encounter her father. They walked off,utterly heedless of Mr. Rushworth's repeated question of,"Shall I go too? Had not I better go too? Will not itbe right for me to go too?" but they were no soonerthrough the door than Henry Crawford undertook to answerthe anxious inquiry, and, encouraging him by all meansto pay his respects to Sir Thomas without delay,sent him after the others with delighted haste.Fanny was left with only the Crawfords and Mr. Yates.She had been quite overlooked by her cousins; and as herown opinion of her claims on Sir Thomas's affectionwas much too humble to give her any idea of classingherself with his children, she was glad to remainbehind and gain a little breathing-time. Her agitationand alarm exceeded all that was endured by the rest,by the right of a disposition which not even innocencecould keep from suffering. She was nearly fainting:all her former habitual dread of her uncle was returning,and with it compassion for him and for almost every oneof the party on the development before him, with solicitudeon Edmund's account indescribable. She had found a seat,where in excessive trembling she was enduring all thesefearful thoughts, while the other three, no longer underany restraint, were giving vent to their feelings of vexation,lamenting over such an unlooked-for premature arrivalas a most untoward event, and without mercy wishingpoor Sir Thomas had been twice as long on his passage,or were still in Antigua.The Crawfords were more warm on the subject than Mr. Yates,from better understanding the family, and judging moreclearly of the mischief that must ensue. The ruin ofthe play was to them a certainty: they felt the totaldestruction of the scheme to be inevitably at hand;while Mr. Yates considered it only as a temporary interruption,a disaster for the evening, and could even suggest thepossibility of the rehearsal being renewed after tea,when the bustle of receiving Sir Thomas were over,and he might be at leisure to be amused by it.The Crawfords laughed at the idea; and having soonagreed on the propriety of their walking quietly homeand leaving the family to themselves, proposed Mr. Yates'saccompanying them and spending the evening at the Parsonage.But Mr. Yates, having never been with those who thought muchof parental claims, or family confidence, could not perceivethat anything of the kind was necessary; and therefore,thanking them, said, "he preferred remaining where he was,that he might pay his respects to the old gentlemanhandsomely since he _was_ come; and besides, he did notthink it would be fair by the others to have everybody run away."Fanny was just beginning to collect herself,and to feel that if she staid longer behind it mightseem disrespectful, when this point was settled, and beingcommissioned with the brother and sister's apology,saw them preparing to go as she quitted the room herselfto perform the dreadful duty of appearing before her uncle.Too soon did she find herself at the drawing-room door;and after pausing a moment for what she knew would not come,for a courage which the outside of no door had ever suppliedto her, she turned the lock in desperation, and the lightsof the drawing-room, and all the collected family,were before her. As she entered, her own name caughther ear. Sir Thomas was at that moment looking round him,and saying, "But where is Fanny? Why do not I seemy little Fanny?"--and on perceiving her, came forwardwith a kindness which astonished and penetrated her,calling her his dear Fanny, kissing her affectionately,and observing with decided pleasure how much she was grown!Fanny knew not how to feel, nor where to look. She wasquite oppressed. He had never been so kind, so _very_kind to her in his life. His manner seemed changed,his voice was quick from the agitation of joy; and all thathad been awful in his dignity seemed lost in tenderness.He led her nearer the light and looked at her again--inquired particularly after her health, and then,correcting himself, observed that he need not inquire,for her appearance spoke sufficiently on that point. A fineblush having succeeded the previous paleness of her face,he was justified in his belief of her equal improvementin health and beauty. He inquired next after her family,especially William: and his kindness altogether was suchas made her reproach herself for loving him so little,and thinking his return a misfortune; and when, on havingcourage to lift her eyes to his face, she saw that hewas grown thinner, and had the burnt, fagged, worn lookof fatigue and a hot climate, every tender feelingwas increased, and she was miserable in consideringhow much unsuspected vexation was probably ready to burston him.Sir Thomas was indeed the life of the party, who athis suggestion now seated themselves round the fire.He had the best right to be the talker; and the delightof his sensations in being again in his own house,in the centre of his family, after such a separation,made him communicative and chatty in a very unusual degree;and he was ready to give every information as to his voyage,and answer every question of his two sons almost beforeit was put. His business in Antigua had latterly beenprosperously rapid, and he came directly from Liverpool,having had an opportunity of making his passage thitherin a private vessel, instead of waiting for the packet;and all the little particulars of his proceedings and events,his arrivals and departures, were most promptly delivered,as he sat by Lady Bertram and looked with heartfeltsatisfaction on the faces around him--interrupting himselfmore than once, however, to remark on his good fortunein finding them all at home--coming unexpectedly as he did--all collected together exactly as he could have wished,but dared not depend on. Mr. Rushworth was not forgotten:a most friendly reception and warmth of hand-shakinghad already met him, and with pointed attention he wasnow included in the objects most intimately connectedwith Mansfield. There was nothing disagreeable inMr. Rushworth's appearance, and Sir Thomas was likinghim already.By not one of the circle was he listened to with such unbroken,unalloyed enjoyment as by his wife, who was reallyextremely happy to see him, and whose feelings wereso warmed by his sudden arrival as to place her neareragitation than she had been for the last twenty years.She had been _almost_ fluttered for a few minutes,and still remained so sensibly animated as to put awayher work, move Pug from her side, and give all herattention and all the rest of her sofa to her husband.She had no anxieties for anybody to cloud _her_ pleasure:her own time had been irreproachably spent during his absence:she had done a great deal of carpet-work, and made manyyards of fringe; and she would have answered as freelyfor the good conduct and useful pursuits of all the youngpeople as for her own. It was so agreeable to her to seehim again, and hear him talk, to have her ear amusedand her whole comprehension filled by his narratives,that she began particularly to feel how dreadfully shemust have missed him, and how impossible it would havebeen for her to bear a lengthened absence.Mrs. Norris was by no means to be compared in happinessto her sister. Not that _she_ was incommoded by manyfears of Sir Thomas's disapprobation when the presentstate of his house should be known, for her judgmenthad been so blinded that, except by the instinctivecaution with which she had whisked away Mr. Rushworth'spink satin cloak as her brother-in-law entered,she could hardly be said to shew any sign of alarm;but she was vexed by the _manner_ of his return.It had left her nothing to do. Instead of being sentfor out of the room, and seeing him first, and havingto spread the happy news through the house, Sir Thomas,with a very reasonable dependence, perhaps, on the nervesof his wife and children, had sought no confidant butthe butler, and had been following him almost instantaneouslyinto the drawing-room. Mrs. Norris felt herself defraudedof an office on which she had always depended, whether hisarrival or his death were to be the thing unfolded;and was now trying to be in a bustle without havinganything to bustle about, and labouring to be importantwhere nothing was wanted but tranquillity and silence.Would Sir Thomas have consented to eat, she might have goneto the housekeeper with troublesome directions, and insultedthe footmen with injunctions of despatch; but Sir Thomasresolutely declined all dinner: he would take nothing,nothing till tea came--he would rather wait for tea.Still Mrs. Norris was at intervals urging something different;and in the most interesting moment of his passage to England,when the alarm of a French privateer was at the height,she burst through his recital with the proposal of soup."Sure, my dear Sir Thomas, a basin of soup would bea much better thing for you than tea. Do have a basinof soup."Sir Thomas could not be provoked. "Still the sameanxiety for everybody's comfort, my dear Mrs. Norris,"was his answer. "But indeed I would rather have nothingbut tea.""Well, then, Lady Bertram, suppose you speak fortea directly; suppose you hurry Baddeley a little;he seems behindhand to-night." She carried this point,and Sir Thomas's narrative proceeded.At length there was a pause. His immediate communicationswere exhausted, and it seemed enough to be looking joyfullyaround him, now at one, now at another of the beloved circle;but the pause was not long: in the elation of herspirits Lady Bertram became talkative, and what werethe sensations of her children upon hearing her say,"How do you think the young people have been amusingthemselves lately, Sir Thomas? They have been acting.We have been all alive with acting.""Indeed! and what have you been acting?""Oh! they'll tell you all about it.""The _all_ will soon be told," cried Tom hastily,and with affected unconcern; "but it is not worthwhile to bore my father with it now. You will hearenough of it to-morrow, sir. We have just been trying,by way of doing something, and amusing my mother,just within the last week, to get up a few scenes,a mere trifle. We have had such incessant rains almostsince October began, that we have been nearly confinedto the house for days together. I have hardly taken outa gun since the 3rd. Tolerable sport the first three days,but there has been no attempting anything since.The first day I went over Mansfield Wood, and Edmund tookthe copses beyond Easton, and we brought home six bracebetween us, and might each have killed six times as many,but we respect your pheasants, sir, I assure you,as much as you could desire. I do not think you will findyour woods by any means worse stocked than they were._I_ never saw Mansfield Wood so full of pheasants in mylife as this year. I hope you will take a day's sportthere yourself, sir, soon."For the present the danger was over, and Fanny's sickfeelings subsided; but when tea was soon afterwardsbrought in, and Sir Thomas, getting up, said that he foundthat he could not be any longer in the house withoutjust looking into his own dear room, every agitationwas returning. He was gone before anything had beensaid to prepare him for the change he must find there;and a pause of alarm followed his disappearance.Edmund was the first to speak--"Something must be done," said he."It is time to think of our visitors," said Maria,still feeling her hand pressed to Henry Crawford's heart,and caring little for anything else. "Where did you leaveMiss Crawford, Fanny?"Fanny told of their departure, and delivered their message."Then poor Yates is all alone," cried Tom. "I will goand fetch him. He will be no bad assistant when itall comes out."To the theatre he went, and reached it just in time towitness the first meeting of his father and his friend.Sir Thomas had been a good deal surprised to find candlesburning in his room; and on casting his eye round it,to see other symptoms of recent habitation and a generalair of confusion in the furniture. The removal of thebookcase from before the billiard-room door struckhim especially, but he had scarcely more than timeto feel astonished at all this, before there were soundsfrom the billiard-room to astonish him still farther.Some one was talking there in a very loud accent; he didnot know the voice--more than talking--almost hallooing.He stepped to the door, rejoicing at that moment in havingthe means of immediate communication, and, opening it,found himself on the stage of a theatre, and opposedto a ranting young man, who appeared likely to knock himdown backwards. At the very moment of Yates perceivingSir Thomas, and giving perhaps the very best start hehad ever given in the whole course of his rehearsals,Tom Bertram entered at the other end of the room;and never had he found greater difficulty in keepinghis countenance. His father's looks of solemnity andamazement on this his first appearance on any stage,and the gradual metamorphosis of the impassioned BaronWildenheim into the well-bred and easy Mr. Yates,making his bow and apology to Sir Thomas Bertram, was suchan exhibition, such a piece of true acting, as he wouldnot have lost upon any account. It would be the last--in all probability--the last scene on that stage; but hewas sure there could not be a finer. The house wouldclose with the greatest eclat.There was little time, however, for the indulgenceof any images of merriment. It was necessary for himto step forward, too, and assist the introduction,and with many awkward sensations he did his best.Sir Thomas received Mr. Yates with all the appearanceof cordiality which was due to his own character,but was really as far from pleased with the necessity ofthe acquaintance as with the manner of its commencement.Mr. Yates's family and connexions were sufficiently knownto him to render his introduction as the "particular friend,"another of the hundred particular friends of his son,exceedingly unwelcome; and it needed all the felicity of beingagain at home, and all the forbearance it could supply,to save Sir Thomas from anger on finding himself thusbewildered in his own house, making part of a ridiculousexhibition in the midst of theatrical nonsense, and forcedin so untoward a moment to admit the acquaintance of a youngman whom he felt sure of disapproving, and whose easyindifference and volubility in the course of the firstfive minutes seemed to mark him the most at home of the two.Tom understood his father's thoughts, and heartilywishing he might be always as well disposed to give thembut partial expression, began to see, more clearly thanhe had ever done before, that there might be some groundof offence, that there might be some reason for the glancehis father gave towards the ceiling and stucco of the room;and that when he inquired with mild gravity after the fateof the billiard-table, he was not proceeding beyonda very allowable curiosity. A few minutes were enoughfor such unsatisfactory sensations on each side; and SirThomas having exerted himself so far as to speak a fewwords of calm approbation in reply to an eager appealof Mr. Yates, as to the happiness of the arrangement,the three gentlemen returned to the drawing-room together,Sir Thomas with an increase of gravity which was notlost on all."I come from your theatre," said he composedly, as hesat down; "I found myself in it rather unexpectedly.Its vicinity to my own room--but in every respect, indeed,it took me by surprise, as I had not the smallest suspicionof your acting having assumed so serious a character.It appears a neat job, however, as far as I could judgeby candlelight, and does my friend Christopher Jackson credit."And then he would have changed the subject, and sippedhis coffee in peace over domestic matters of a calmer hue;but Mr. Yates, without discernment to catch Sir Thomas's meaning,or diffidence, or delicacy, or discretion enough to allowhim to lead the discourse while he mingled among the otherswith the least obtrusiveness himself, would keep him onthe topic of the theatre, would torment him with questionsand remarks relative to it, and finally would make him hearthe whole history of his disappointment at Ecclesford.Sir Thomas listened most politely, but found much tooffend his ideas of decorum, and confirm his ill-opinionof Mr. Yates's habits of thinking, from the beginningto the end of the story; and when it was over, could givehim no other assurance of sympathy than what a slight bow conveyed."This was, in fact, the origin of _our_ acting," said Tom,after a moment's thought. "My friend Yates brought theinfection from Ecclesford, and it spread--as those thingsalways spread, you know, sir--the faster, probably,from _your_ having so often encouraged the sort of thingin us formerly. It was like treading old ground again."Mr. Yates took the subject from his friend as soon as possible,and immediately gave Sir Thomas an account of what theyhad done and were doing: told him of the gradualincrease of their views, the happy conclusion of theirfirst difficulties, and present promising state of affairs;relating everything with so blind an interest as made himnot only totally unconscious of the uneasy movements of manyof his friends as they sat, the change of countenance,the fidget, the hem! of unquietness, but prevented himeven from seeing the expression of the face on which hisown eyes were fixed--from seeing Sir Thomas's dark browcontract as he looked with inquiring earnestness at hisdaughters and Edmund, dwelling particularly on the latter,and speaking a language, a remonstrance, a reproof,which _he_ felt at his heart. Not less acutely was itfelt by Fanny, who had edged back her chair behind heraunt's end of the sofa, and, screened from notice herself,saw all that was passing before her. Such a lookof reproach at Edmund from his father she could neverhave expected to witness; and to feel that it was in anydegree deserved was an aggravation indeed. Sir Thomas'slook implied, "On your judgment, Edmund, I depended;what have you been about?" She knelt in spirit to her uncle,and her bosom swelled to utter, "Oh, not to _him_!Look so to all the others, but not to _him_!"Mr. Yates was still talking. "To own the truth, Sir Thomas,we were in the middle of a rehearsal when you arrivedthis evening. We were going through the three first acts,and not unsuccessfully upon the whole. Our company isnow so dispersed, from the Crawfords being gone home,that nothing more can be done to-night; but if you willgive us the honour of your company to-morrow evening,I should not be afraid of the result. We bespeakyour indulgence, you understand, as young performers;we bespeak your indulgence.""My indulgence shall be given, sir," replied SirThomas gravely, "but without any other rehearsal."And with a relenting smile, he added, "I come hometo be happy and indulgent." Then turning away towardsany or all of the rest, he tranquilly said, "Mr. and MissCrawford were mentioned in my last letters from Mansfield.Do you find them agreeable acquaintance?"Tom was the only one at all ready with an answer, but hebeing entirely without particular regard for either,without jealousy either in love or acting, could speakvery handsomely of both. "Mr. Crawford was a most pleasant,gentleman-like man; his sister a sweet, pretty, elegant,lively girl."Mr. Rushworth could be silent no longer. "I do not sayhe is not gentleman-like, considering; but you shouldtell your father he is not above five feet eight,or he will be expecting a well-looking man."Sir Thomas did not quite understand this, and lookedwith some surprise at the speaker."If I must say what I think," continued Mr. Rushworth, "in myopinion it is very disagreeable to be always rehearsing.It is having too much of a good thing. I am not so fondof acting as I was at first. I think we are a great dealbetter employed, sitting comfortably here among ourselves,and doing nothing."Sir Thomas looked again, and then replied with an approvingsmile, "I am happy to find our sentiments on this subjectso much the same. It gives me sincere satisfaction.That I should be cautious and quick-sighted, and feel manyscruples which my children do _not_ feel, is perfectly natural;and equally so that my value for domestic tranquillity,for a home which shuts out noisy pleasures, should muchexceed theirs. But at your time of life to feel all this,is a most favourable circumstance for yourself,and for everybody connected with you; and I am sensibleof the importance of having an ally of such weight."Sir Thomas meant to be giving Mr. Rushworth's opinionin better words than he could find himself. He wasaware that he must not expect a genius in Mr. Rushworth;but as a well-judging, steady young man, with better notionsthan his elocution would do justice to, he intended to valuehim very highly. It was impossible for many of the othersnot to smile. Mr. Rushworth hardly knew what to dowith so much meaning; but by looking, as he really felt,most exceedingly pleased with Sir Thomas's good opinion,and saying scarcely anything, he did his best towardspreserving that good opinion a little longer.