Chapter XX

by Jane Austen

　　Edmund's first object the next morning was to see hisfather alone, and give him a fair statement of the wholeacting scheme, defending his own share in it as far onlyas he could then, in a soberer moment, feel his motivesto deserve, and acknowledging, with perfect ingenuousness,that his concession had been attended with such partialgood as to make his judgment in it very doubtful.He was anxious, while vindicating himself, to say nothingunkind of the others: but there was only one amongst themwhose conduct he could mention without some necessityof defence or palliation. "We have all been more or lessto blame," said he, "every one of us, excepting Fanny.Fanny is the only one who has judged rightly throughout;who has been consistent. _Her_ feelings have been steadilyagainst it from first to last. She never ceased to thinkof what was due to you. You will find Fanny everything youcould wish."Sir Thomas saw all the impropriety of such a scheme amongsuch a party, and at such a time, as strongly as his sonhad ever supposed he must; he felt it too much, indeed,for many words; and having shaken hands with Edmund,meant to try to lose the disagreeable impression,and forget how much he had been forgotten himself as soonas he could, after the house had been cleared of everyobject enforcing the remembrance, and restored to itsproper state. He did not enter into any remonstrance withhis other children: he was more willing to believe theyfelt their error than to run the risk of investigation.The reproof of an immediate conclusion of everything,the sweep of every preparation, would be sufficient.There was one person, however, in the house, whom he couldnot leave to learn his sentiments merely through his conduct.He could not help giving Mrs. Norris a hint of his havinghoped that her advice might have been interposed to preventwhat her judgment must certainly have disapproved. The youngpeople had been very inconsiderate in forming the plan;they ought to have been capable of a better decision themselves;but they were young; and, excepting Edmund, he believed,of unsteady characters; and with greater surprise, therefore,he must regard her acquiescence in their wrong measures,her countenance of their unsafe amusements, than that suchmeasures and such amusements should have been suggested.Mrs. Norris was a little confounded and as nearly beingsilenced as ever she had been in her life; for shewas ashamed to confess having never seen any of theimpropriety which was so glaring to Sir Thomas, and wouldnot have admitted that her influence was insufficient--that she might have talked in vain. Her only resourcewas to get out of the subject as fast as possible, and turnthe current of Sir Thomas's ideas into a happier channel.She had a great deal to insinuate in her own praiseas to _general_ attention to the interest and comfortof his family, much exertion and many sacrifices to glanceat in the form of hurried walks and sudden removals fromher own fireside, and many excellent hints of distrustand economy to Lady Bertram and Edmund to detail,whereby a most considerable saving had always arisen,and more than one bad servant been detected. But her chiefstrength lay in Sotherton. Her greatest support and glorywas in having formed the connexion with the Rushworths._There_ she was impregnable. She took to herself allthe credit of bringing Mr. Rushworth's admiration of Mariato any effect. "If I had not been active," said she,"and made a point of being introduced to his mother,and then prevailed on my sister to pay the first visit,I am as certain as I sit here that nothing would havecome of it; for Mr. Rushworth is the sort of amiablemodest young man who wants a great deal of encouragement,and there were girls enough on the catch for him if wehad been idle. But I left no stone unturned. I wasready to move heaven and earth to persuade my sister,and at last I did persuade her. You know the distanceto Sotherton; it was in the middle of winter, and the roadsalmost impassable, but I did persuade her.""I know how great, how justly great, your influenceis with Lady Bertram and her children, and am the moreconcerned that it should not have been.""My dear Sir Thomas, if you had seen the state of theroads _that_ day! I thought we should never have gotthrough them, though we had the four horses of course;and poor old coachman would attend us, out of his great loveand kindness, though he was hardly able to sit the boxon account of the rheumatism which I had been doctoringhim for ever since Michaelmas. I cured him at last;but he was very bad all the winter--and this was such a day,I could not help going to him up in his room before we setoff to advise him not to venture: he was putting on his wig;so I said, 'Coachman, you had much better not go; your Ladyand I shall be very safe; you know how steady Stephen is,and Charles has been upon the leaders so often now,that I am sure there is no fear.' But, however, I soonfound it would not do; he was bent upon going, and as Ihate to be worrying and officious, I said no more; but myheart quite ached for him at every jolt, and when we gotinto the rough lanes about Stoke, where, what with frostand snow upon beds of stones, it was worse than anythingyou can imagine, I was quite in an agony about him.And then the poor horses too! To see them straining away!You know how I always feel for the horses. And when we gotto the bottom of Sandcroft Hill, what do you think I did?You will laugh at me; but I got out and walked up.I did indeed. It might not be saving them much, but itwas something, and I could not bear to sit at my easeand be dragged up at the expense of those noble animals.I caught a dreadful cold, but _that_ I did not regard.My object was accomplished in the visit.""I hope we shall always think the acquaintance worthany trouble that might be taken to establish it.There is nothing very striking in Mr. Rushworth's manners,but I was pleased last night with what appeared to be hisopinion on one subject: his decided preference of a quietfamily party to the bustle and confusion of acting.He seemed to feel exactly as one could wish.""Yes, indeed, and the more you know of him the betteryou will like him. He is not a shining character,but he has a thousand good qualities; and is so disposedto look up to you, that I am quite laughed at about it,for everybody considers it as my doing. 'Upon my word,Mrs. Norris,' said Mrs. Grant the other day, 'if Mr. Rushworthwere a son of your own, he could not hold Sir Thomasin greater respect.'"Sir Thomas gave up the point, foiled by her evasions,disarmed by her flattery; and was obliged to restsatisfied with the conviction that where the presentpleasure of those she loved was at stake, her kindnessdid sometimes overpower her judgment.It was a busy morning with him. Conversation with anyof them occupied but a small part of it. He had toreinstate himself in all the wonted concerns of hisMansfield life: to see his steward and his bailiff;to examine and compute, and, in the intervalsof business, to walk into his stables and his gardens,and nearest plantations; but active and methodical,he had not only done all this before he resumed his seatas master of the house at dinner, he had also set thecarpenter to work in pulling down what had been so latelyput up in the billiard-room, and given the scene-painterhis dismissal long enough to justify the pleasing beliefof his being then at least as far off as Northampton.The scene-painter was gone, having spoilt only thefloor of one room, ruined all the coachman's sponges,and made five of the under-servants idle and dissatisfied;and Sir Thomas was in hopes that another day or two wouldsuffice to wipe away every outward memento of what had been,even to the destruction of every unbound copy of Lovers'Vows in the house, for he was burning all that met his eyeMr. Yates was beginning now to understand Sir Thomas's intentions,though as far as ever from understanding their source.He and his friend had been out with their guns the chief ofthe morning, and Tom had taken the opportunity of explaining,with proper apologies for his father's particularity,what was to be expected. Mr. Yates felt it as acutelyas might be supposed. To be a second time disappointedin the same way was an instance of very severe ill-luck;and his indignation was such, that had it not been for delicacytowards his friend, and his friend's youngest sister,he believed he should certainly attack the baronet onthe absurdity of his proceedings, and argue him into alittle more rationality. He believed this very stoutlywhile he was in Mansfield Wood, and all the way home;but there was a something in Sir Thomas, when they satround the same table, which made Mr. Yates think it wiserto let him pursue his own way, and feel the folly of itwithout opposition. He had known many disagreeablefathers before, and often been struck with the inconveniencesthey occasioned, but never, in the whole course of his life,had he seen one of that class so unintelligibly moral,so infamously tyrannical as Sir Thomas. He was not a manto be endured but for his children's sake, and he mightbe thankful to his fair daughter Julia that Mr. Yatesdid yet mean to stay a few days longer under his roof.The evening passed with external smoothness, though almostevery mind was ruffled; and the music which Sir Thomascalled for from his daughters helped to conceal the wantof real harmony. Maria was in a good deal of agitation.It was of the utmost consequence to her that Crawfordshould now lose no time in declaring himself, and shewas disturbed that even a day should be gone by withoutseeming to advance that point. She had been expectingto see him the whole morning, and all the evening, too,was still expecting him. Mr. Rushworth had set off earlywith the great news for Sotherton; and she had fondly hopedfor such an immediate _eclaircissement_ as might save himthe trouble of ever coming back again. But they had seenno one from the Parsonage, not a creature, and had heardno tidings beyond a friendly note of congratulationand inquiry from Mrs. Grant to Lady Bertram. It wasthe first day for many, many weeks, in which the familieshad been wholly divided. Four-and-twenty hours had neverpassed before, since August began, without bringing themtogether in some way or other. It was a sad, anxious day;and the morrow, though differing in the sort of evil,did by no means bring less. A few moments of feverishenjoyment were followed by hours of acute suffering.Henry Crawford was again in the house: he walked upwith Dr. Grant, who was anxious to pay his respects toSir Thomas, and at rather an early hour they were usheredinto the breakfast-room, where were most of the family.Sir Thomas soon appeared, and Maria saw with delightand agitation the introduction of the man she loved toher father. Her sensations were indefinable, and so werethey a few minutes afterwards upon hearing Henry Crawford,who had a chair between herself and Tom, ask the latterin an undervoice whether there were any plans for resumingthe play after the present happy interruption (witha courteous glance at Sir Thomas), because, in that case,he should make a point of returning to Mansfield at any timerequired by the party: he was going away immediately,being to meet his uncle at Bath without delay; but if therewere any prospect of a renewal of Lovers' Vows, he shouldhold himself positively engaged, he should break throughevery other claim, he should absolutely condition with hisuncle for attending them whenever he might be wanted.The play should not be lost by _his_ absence."From Bath, Norfolk, London, York, wherever I may be,"said he; "I will attend you from any place in England,at an hour's notice."It was well at that moment that Tom had to speak, and nothis sister. He could immediately say with easy fluency,"I am sorry you are going; but as to our play, _that_ isall over--entirely at an end" (looking significantlyat his father). "The painter was sent off yesterday,and very little will remain of the theatre to-morrow. I knewhow _that_ would be from the first. It is early for Bath.You will find nobody there.""It is about my uncle's usual time.""When do you think of going?""I may, perhaps, get as far as Banbury to-day.""Whose stables do you use at Bath?" was the next question;and while this branch of the subject was under discussion,Maria, who wanted neither pride nor resolution, was preparingto encounter her share of it with tolerable calmness.To her he soon turned, repeating much of what he hadalready said, with only a softened air and strongerexpressions of regret. But what availed his expressionsor his air? He was going, and, if not voluntarily going,voluntarily intending to stay away; for, excepting what mightbe due to his uncle, his engagements were all self-imposed.He might talk of necessity, but she knew his independence.The hand which had so pressed hers to his heart! the handand the heart were alike motionless and passive now!Her spirit supported her, but the agony of her mind was severe.She had not long to endure what arose from listeningto language which his actions contradicted, or to burythe tumult of her feelings under the restraint of society;for general civilities soon called his notice from her,and the farewell visit, as it then became openly acknowledged,was a very short one. He was gone--he had touched herhand for the last time, he had made his parting bow,and she might seek directly all that solitude could dofor her. Henry Crawford was gone, gone from the house,and within two hours afterwards from the parish;and so ended all the hopes his selfish vanity had raisedin Maria and Julia Bertram.Julia could rejoice that he was gone. His presence wasbeginning to be odious to her; and if Maria gained him not,she was now cool enough to dispense with any other revenge.She did not want exposure to be added to desertion.Henry Crawford gone, she could even pity her sister.With a purer spirit did Fanny rejoice in the intelligence.She heard it at dinner, and felt it a blessing.By all the others it was mentioned with regret;and his merits honoured with due gradation of feeling--from the sincerity of Edmund's too partial regard,to the unconcern of his mother speaking entirely by rote.Mrs. Norris began to look about her, and wonder thathis falling in love with Julia had come to nothing;and could almost fear that she had been remiss herselfin forwarding it; but with so many to care for, how wasit possible for even _her_ activity to keep pace withher wishes?Another day or two, and Mr. Yates was gone likewise.In _his_ departure Sir Thomas felt the chief interest:wanting to be alone with his family, the presence of astranger superior to Mr. Yates must have been irksome;but of him, trifling and confident, idle and expensive,it was every way vexatious. In himself he was wearisome,but as the friend of Tom and the admirer of Julia hebecame offensive. Sir Thomas had been quite indifferentto Mr. Crawford's going or staying: but his goodwishes for Mr. Yates's having a pleasant journey,as he walked with him to the hall-door, were given withgenuine satisfaction. Mr. Yates had staid to see thedestruction of every theatrical preparation at Mansfield,the removal of everything appertaining to the play:he left the house in all the soberness of its generalcharacter; and Sir Thomas hoped, in seeing him out of it,to be rid of the worst object connected with the scheme,and the last that must be inevitably reminding him ofits existence.Mrs. Norris contrived to remove one article from his sightthat might have distressed him. The curtain, over whichshe had presided with such talent and such success,went off with her to her cottage, where she happenedto be particularly in want of green baize.