Chapter XXV

by Jane Austen

　　The intercourse of the two families was at this periodmore nearly restored to what it had been in the autumn,than any member of the old intimacy had thought everlikely to be again. The return of Henry Crawford,and the arrival of William Price, had much to do with it,but much was still owing to Sir Thomas's more than tolerationof the neighbourly attempts at the Parsonage. His mind,now disengaged from the cares which had pressed on himat first, was at leisure to find the Grants and theiryoung inmates really worth visiting; and though infinitelyabove scheming or contriving for any the most advantageousmatrimonial establishment that could be among the apparentpossibilities of any one most dear to him, and disdainingeven as a littleness the being quick-sighted on such points,he could not avoid perceiving, in a grand and careless way,that Mr. Crawford was somewhat distinguishing his niece--nor perhaps refrain (though unconsciously) from giving amore willing assent to invitations on that account.His readiness, however, in agreeing to dine at the Parsonage,when the general invitation was at last hazarded,after many debates and many doubts as to whether it wereworth while, "because Sir Thomas seemed so ill inclined,and Lady Bertram was so indolent!" proceeded fromgood-breeding and goodwill alone, and had nothing to dowith Mr. Crawford, but as being one in an agreeable group:for it was in the course of that very visit that he firstbegan to think that any one in the habit of such idleobservations _would_ _have_ _thought_ that Mr. Crawfordwas the admirer of Fanny Price.The meeting was generally felt to be a pleasant one,being composed in a good proportion of those who would talkand those who would listen; and the dinner itself was elegantand plentiful, according to the usual style of the Grants,and too much according to the usual habits of all to raiseany emotion except in Mrs. Norris, who could never beholdeither the wide table or the number of dishes on itwith patience, and who did always contrive to experiencesome evil from the passing of the servants behind her chair,and to bring away some fresh conviction of its beingimpossible among so many dishes but that some must be cold.In the evening it was found, according to the predeterminationof Mrs. Grant and her sister, that after making upthe whist-table there would remain sufficient for around game, and everybody being as perfectly complyingand without a choice as on such occasions they always are,speculation was decided on almost as soon as whist;and Lady Bertram soon found herself in the critical situationof being applied to for her own choice between the games,and being required either to draw a card for whist or not.She hesitated. Luckily Sir Thomas was at hand."What shall I do, Sir Thomas? Whist and speculation;which will amuse me most?"Sir Thomas, after a moment's thought, recommended speculation.He was a whist player himself, and perhaps might feelthat it would not much amuse him to have her for a partner."Very well," was her ladyship's contented answer;"then speculation, if you please, Mrs. Grant. I knownothing about it, but Fanny must teach me."Here Fanny interposed, however, with anxious protestationsof her own equal ignorance; she had never played thegame nor seen it played in her life; and Lady Bertramfelt a moment's indecision again; but upon everybody'sassuring her that nothing could be so easy, that itwas the easiest game on the cards, and Henry Crawford'sstepping forward with a most earnest request to be allowedto sit between her ladyship and Miss Price, and teachthem both, it was so settled; and Sir Thomas, Mrs. Norris,and Dr. and Mrs. Grant being seated at the table of primeintellectual state and dignity, the remaining six,under Miss Crawford's direction, were arranged roundthe other. It was a fine arrangement for Henry Crawford,who was close to Fanny, and with his hands full of business,having two persons' cards to manage as well as his own;for though it was impossible for Fanny not to feel herselfmistress of the rules of the game in three minutes,he had yet to inspirit her play, sharpen her avarice,and harden her heart, which, especially in any competitionwith William, was a work of some difficulty; and as forLady Bertram, he must continue in charge of all her fameand fortune through the whole evening; and if quick enoughto keep her from looking at her cards when the deal began,must direct her in whatever was to be done with themto the end of it.He was in high spirits, doing everything with happy ease,and preeminent in all the lively turns, quick resources,and playful impudence that could do honour to the game;and the round table was altogether a very comfortablecontrast to the steady sobriety and orderly silence ofthe other.Twice had Sir Thomas inquired into the enjoyment andsuccess of his lady, but in vain; no pause was long enoughfor the time his measured manner needed; and very littleof her state could be known till Mrs. Grant was able,at the end of the first rubber, to go to her and payher compliments."I hope your ladyship is pleased with the game.""Oh dear, yes! very entertaining indeed. A very odd game.I do not know what it is all about. I am never to seemy cards; and Mr. Crawford does all the rest.""Bertram," said Crawford, some time afterwards, taking theopportunity of a little languor in the game, "I have nevertold you what happened to me yesterday in my ride home."They had been hunting together, and were in the midst of agood run, and at some distance from Mansfield, when his horsebeing found to have flung a shoe, Henry Crawford had beenobliged to give up, and make the best of his way back."I told you I lost my way after passing that old farmhousewith the yew-trees, because I can never bear to ask;but I have not told you that, with my usual luck--for Inever do wrong without gaining by it--I found myself in duetime in the very place which I had a curiosity to see.I was suddenly, upon turning the corner of a steepishdowny field, in the midst of a retired little villagebetween gently rising hills; a small stream before me tobe forded, a church standing on a sort of knoll to my right--which church was strikingly large and handsome forthe place, and not a gentleman or half a gentleman's houseto be seen excepting one--to be presumed the Parsonage--within a stone's throw of the said knoll and church.I found myself, in short, in Thornton Lacey.""It sounds like it," said Edmund; "but which way did youturn after passing Sewell's farm?""I answer no such irrelevant and insidious questions;though were I to answer all that you could put in the courseof an hour, you would never be able to prove that itwas _not_ Thornton Lacey--for such it certainly was.""You inquired, then?""No, I never inquire. But I _told_ a man mending a hedgethat it was Thornton Lacey, and he agreed to it.""You have a good memory. I had forgotten having evertold you half so much of the place."Thornton Lacey was the name of his impending living,as Miss Crawford well knew; and her interest in a negotiationfor William Price's knave increased."Well," continued Edmund, "and how did you like whatyou saw?""Very much indeed. You are a lucky fellow. There will bework for five summers at least before the place is liveable.""No, no, not so bad as that. The farmyard must be moved,I grant you; but I am not aware of anything else.The house is by no means bad, and when the yard is removed,there may be a very tolerable approach to it.""The farmyard must be cleared away entirely, and plantedup to shut out the blacksmith's shop. The house mustbe turned to front the east instead of the north--the entrance and principal rooms, I mean, must be onthat side, where the view is really very pretty; I amsure it may be done. And _there_ must be your approach,through what is at present the garden. You must makea new garden at what is now the back of the house;which will be giving it the best aspect in the world,sloping to the south-east. The ground seems preciselyformed for it. I rode fifty yards up the lane,between the church and the house, in order to look about me;and saw how it might all be. Nothing can be easier.The meadows beyond what _will_ _be_ the garden, as wellas what now _is_, sweeping round from the lane I stoodin to the north-east, that is, to the principal roadthrough the village, must be all laid together, of course;very pretty meadows they are, finely sprinkled with timber.They belong to the living, I suppose; if not, you mustpurchase them. Then the stream--something must be donewith the stream; but I could not quite determine what.I had two or three ideas.""And I have two or three ideas also," said Edmund,"and one of them is, that very little of your planfor Thornton Lacey will ever be put in practice.I must be satisfied with rather less ornament and beauty.I think the house and premises may be made comfortable,and given the air of a gentleman's residence, without anyvery heavy expense, and that must suffice me; and, I hope,may suffice all who care about me."Miss Crawford, a little suspicious and resentful of acertain tone of voice, and a certain half-look attendingthe last expression of his hope, made a hasty finishof her dealings with William Price; and securing his knaveat an exorbitant rate, exclaimed, "There, I will stakemy last like a woman of spirit. No cold prudence for me.I am not born to sit still and do nothing. If I losethe game, it shall not be from not striving for it."The game was hers, and only did not pay her for whatshe had given to secure it. Another deal proceeded,and Crawford began again about Thornton Lacey."My plan may not be the best possible: I had not manyminutes to form it in; but you must do a good deal.The place deserves it, and you will find yourself notsatisfied with much less than it is capable of. (Excuse me,your ladyship must not see your cards. There, let themlie just before you.) The place deserves it, Bertram.You talk of giving it the air of a gentleman's residence._That_ will be done by the removal of the farmyard;for, independent of that terrible nuisance, I never sawa house of the kind which had in itself so much the airof a gentleman's residence, so much the look of a somethingabove a mere parsonage-house--above the expenditure of a fewhundreds a year. It is not a scrambling collection of lowsingle rooms, with as many roofs as windows; it is notcramped into the vulgar compactness of a square farmhouse:it is a solid, roomy, mansion-like looking house, such as onemight suppose a respectable old country family had livedin from generation to generation, through two centuriesat least, and were now spending from two to three thousanda year in." Miss Crawford listened, and Edmund agreedto this. "The air of a gentleman's residence, therefore,you cannot but give it, if you do anything. But it iscapable of much more. (Let me see, Mary; Lady Bertrambids a dozen for that queen; no, no, a dozen is morethan it is worth. Lady Bertram does not bid a dozen.She will have nothing to say to it. Go on, go on.)By some such improvements as I have suggested (I do not reallyrequire you to proceed upon my plan, though, by the bye,I doubt anybody's striking out a better) you may give ita higher character. You may raise it into a _place_.From being the mere gentleman's residence, it becomes,by judicious improvement, the residence of a manof education, taste, modern manners, good connexions.All this may be stamped on it; and that house receivesuch an air as to make its owner be set down as the greatlandholder of the parish by every creature travellingthe road; especially as there is no real squire's houseto dispute the point--a circumstance, between ourselves,to enhance the value of such a situation in pointof privilege and independence beyond all calculation._You_ think with me, I hope" (turning with a softenedvoice to Fanny). "Have you ever seen the place?"Fanny gave a quick negative, and tried to hide her interestin the subject by an eager attention to her brother,who was driving as hard a bargain, and imposing on heras much as he could; but Crawford pursued with "No, no,you must not part with the queen. You have boughther too dearly, and your brother does not offer halfher value. No, no, sir, hands off, hands off. Your sisterdoes not part with the queen. She is quite determined.The game will be yours," turning to her again; "it willcertainly be yours.""And Fanny had much rather it were William's," said Edmund,smiling at her. "Poor Fanny! not allowed to cheat herselfas she wishes!""Mr. Bertram," said Miss Crawford, a few minutes afterwards,"you know Henry to be such a capital improver, that youcannot possibly engage in anything of the sort at ThorntonLacey without accepting his help. Only think how usefulhe was at Sotherton! Only think what grand things wereproduced there by our all going with him one hot dayin August to drive about the grounds, and see his geniustake fire. There we went, and there we came home again;and what was done there is not to be told!"Fanny's eyes were turned on Crawford for a momentwith an expression more than grave--even reproachful;but on catching his, were instantly withdrawn.With something of consciousness he shook his head athis sister, and laughingly replied, "I cannot say therewas much done at Sotherton; but it was a hot day, and wewere all walking after each other, and bewildered."As soon as a general buzz gave him shelter, he added,in a low voice, directed solely at Fanny, "I should besorry to have my powers of _planning_ judged of by theday at Sotherton. I see things very differently now.Do not think of me as I appeared then."Sotherton was a word to catch Mrs. Norris, and beingjust then in the happy leisure which followed securingthe odd trick by Sir Thomas's capital play and her ownagainst Dr. and Mrs. Grant's great hands, she called out,in high good-humour, "Sotherton! Yes, that is a place,indeed, and we had a charming day there. William, you arequite out of luck; but the next time you come, I hope dearMr. and Mrs. Rushworth will be at home, and I am sureI can answer for your being kindly received by both.Your cousins are not of a sort to forget their relations,and Mr. Rushworth is a most amiable man. They are atBrighton now, you know; in one of the best houses there,as Mr. Rushworth's fine fortune gives them a right to be.I do not exactly know the distance, but when you get backto Portsmouth, if it is not very far off, you ought to goover and pay your respects to them; and I could senda little parcel by you that I want to get conveyed toyour cousins.""I should be very happy, aunt; but Brighton is almostby Beachey Head; and if I could get so far, I couldnot expect to be welcome in such a smart place as that--poor scrubby midshipman as I am."Mrs. Norris was beginning an eager assurance of theaffability he might depend on, when she was stoppedby Sir Thomas's saying with authority, "I do not adviseyour going to Brighton, William, as I trust you may soonhave more convenient opportunities of meeting; but mydaughters would be happy to see their cousins anywhere;and you will find Mr. Rushworth most sincerely disposedto regard all the connexions of our family as his own.""I would rather find him private secretary to the FirstLord than anything else," was William's only answer,in an undervoice, not meant to reach far, and thesubject dropped.As yet Sir Thomas had seen nothing to remark in Mr. Crawford'sbehaviour; but when the whist-table broke up at the endof the second rubber, and leaving Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norristo dispute over their last play, he became a looker-onat the other, he found his niece the object of attentions,or rather of professions, of a somewhat pointed character.Henry Crawford was in the first glow of another schemeabout Thornton Lacey; and not being able to catchEdmund's ear, was detailing it to his fair neighbourwith a look of considerable earnestness. His schemewas to rent the house himself the following winter,that he might have a home of his own in that neighbourhood;and it was not merely for the use of it in the hunting-season(as he was then telling her), though _that_ considerationhad certainly some weight, feeling as he did that,in spite of all Dr. Grant's very great kindness, it wasimpossible for him and his horses to be accommodatedwhere they now were without material inconvenience;but his attachment to that neighbourhood did not dependupon one amusement or one season of the year: he had sethis heart upon having a something there that he couldcome to at any time, a little homestall at his command,where all the holidays of his year might be spent, and hemight find himself continuing, improving, and _perfecting_that friendship and intimacy with the Mansfield Parkfamily which was increasing in value to him every day.Sir Thomas heard and was not offended. There was no wantof respect in the young man's address; and Fanny's receptionof it was so proper and modest, so calm and uninviting,that he had nothing to censure in her. She said little,assented only here and there, and betrayed no inclinationeither of appropriating any part of the compliment to herself,or of strengthening his views in favour of Northamptonshire.Finding by whom he was observed, Henry Crawford addressedhimself on the same subject to Sir Thomas, in a moreeveryday tone, but still with feeling."I want to be your neighbour, Sir Thomas, as you have,perhaps, heard me telling Miss Price. May I hopefor your acquiescence, and for your not influencingyour son against such a tenant?"Sir Thomas, politely bowing, replied, "It is the only way,sir, in which I could _not_ wish you established as apermanent neighbour; but I hope, and believe, that Edmund willoccupy his own house at Thornton Lacey. Edmund, am I saying toomuch?"Edmund, on this appeal, had first to hear what was going on;but, on understanding the question, was at no loss for an answer."Certainly, sir, I have no idea but of residence.But, Crawford, though I refuse you as a tenant,come to me as a friend. Consider the house as halfyour own every winter, and we will add to the stableson your own improved plan, and with all the improvementsof your improved plan that may occur to you this spring.""We shall be the losers," continued Sir Thomas."His going, though only eight miles, will be an unwelcomecontraction of our family circle; but I should have beendeeply mortified if any son of mine could reconcilehimself to doing less. It is perfectly natural that youshould not have thought much on the subject, Mr. Crawford.But a parish has wants and claims which can be knownonly by a clergyman constantly resident, and which noproxy can be capable of satisfying to the same extent.Edmund might, in the common phrase, do the duty of Thornton,that is, he might read prayers and preach, without givingup Mansfield Park: he might ride over every Sunday, to ahouse nominally inhabited, and go through divine service;he might be the clergyman of Thornton Lacey every seventh day,for three or four hours, if that would content him.But it will not. He knows that human nature needs morelessons than a weekly sermon can convey; and that if hedoes not live among his parishioners, and prove himself,by constant attention, their well-wisher and friend, he doesvery little either for their good or his own."Mr. Crawford bowed his acquiescence."I repeat again," added Sir Thomas, "that Thornton Laceyis the only house in the neighbourhood in which I should_not_ be happy to wait on Mr. Crawford as occupier."Mr. Crawford bowed his thanks."Sir Thomas," said Edmund, "undoubtedly understandsthe duty of a parish priest. We must hope his sonmay prove that _he_ knows it too."Whatever effect Sir Thomas's little harangue might reallyproduce on Mr. Crawford, it raised some awkward sensationsin two of the others, two of his most attentive listeners--Miss Crawford and Fanny. One of whom, having never beforeunderstood that Thornton was so soon and so completelyto be his home, was pondering with downcast eyes on what itwould be _not_ to see Edmund every day; and the other,startled from the agreeable fancies she had been previouslyindulging on the strength of her brother's description,no longer able, in the picture she had been forming of afuture Thornton, to shut out the church, sink the clergyman,and see only the respectable, elegant, modernised,and occasional residence of a man of independent fortune,was considering Sir Thomas, with decided ill-will,as the destroyer of all this, and suffering the morefrom that involuntary forbearance which his characterand manner commanded, and from not daring to relieveherself by a single attempt at throwing ridicule on his cause.All the agreeable of _her_ speculation was over for that hour.It was time to have done with cards, if sermons prevailed;and she was glad to find it necessary to come to a conclusion,and be able to refresh her spirits by a change of placeand neighbour.The chief of the party were now collected irregularlyround the fire, and waiting the final break-up. Williamand Fanny were the most detached. They remainedtogether at the otherwise deserted card-table, talkingvery comfortably, and not thinking of the rest, till someof the rest began to think of them. Henry Crawford'schair was the first to be given a direction towards them,and he sat silently observing them for a few minutes;himself, in the meanwhile, observed by Sir Thomas,who was standing in chat with Dr. Grant."This is the assembly night," said William. "If I wereat Portsmouth I should be at it, perhaps.""But you do not wish yourself at Portsmouth, William?""No, Fanny, that I do not. I shall have enough of Portsmouthand of dancing too, when I cannot have you. And I do notknow that there would be any good in going to the assembly,for I might not get a partner. The Portsmouth girls turnup their noses at anybody who has not a commission.One might as well be nothing as a midshipman.One _is_ nothing, indeed. You remember the Gregorys;they are grown up amazing fine girls, but they will hardlyspeak to _me_, because Lucy is courted by a lieutenant.""Oh! shame, shame! But never mind it, William" (her owncheeks in a glow of indignation as she spoke). "It is notworth minding. It is no reflection on _you_; it is nomore than what the greatest admirals have all experienced,more or less, in their time. You must think of that,you must try to make up your mind to it as one of thehardships which fall to every sailor's share, like badweather and hard living, only with this advantage,that there will be an end to it, that there will comea time when you will have nothing of that sort to endure.When you are a lieutenant! only think, William, when youare a lieutenant, how little you will care for any nonsenseof this kind.""I begin to think I shall never be a lieutenant, Fanny.Everybody gets made but me.""Oh! my dear William, do not talk so; do not be so desponding.My uncle says nothing, but I am sure he will do everythingin his power to get you made. He knows, as well as you do,of what consequence it is."She was checked by the sight of her uncle much nearerto them than she had any suspicion of, and each foundit necessary to talk of something else."Are you fond of dancing, Fanny?""Yes, very; only I am soon tired.""I should like to go to a ball with you and seeyou dance. Have you never any balls at Northampton?I should like to see you dance, and I'd dance with youif you _would_, for nobody would know who I was here,and I should like to be your partner once more.We used to jump about together many a time, did not we?when the hand-organ was in the street? I am a prettygood dancer in my way, but I dare say you are a better."And turning to his uncle, who was now close to them,"Is not Fanny a very good dancer, sir?"Fanny, in dismay at such an unprecedented question,did not know which way to look, or how to be preparedfor the answer. Some very grave reproof, or at leastthe coldest expression of indifference, must be comingto distress her brother, and sink her to the ground.But, on the contrary, it was no worse than, "I am sorryto say that I am unable to answer your question.I have never seen Fanny dance since she was a little girl;but I trust we shall both think she acquits herself likea gentlewoman when we do see her, which, perhaps, we mayhave an opportunity of doing ere long.""I have had the pleasure of seeing your sister dance,Mr. Price," said Henry Crawford, leaning forward,"and will engage to answer every inquiry which you canmake on the subject, to your entire satisfaction.But I believe" (seeing Fanny looked distressed) "it mustbe at some other time. There is _one_ person in companywho does not like to have Miss Price spoken of."True enough, he had once seen Fanny dance; and it wasequally true that he would now have answered for her glidingabout with quiet, light elegance, and in admirable time;but, in fact, he could not for the life of him recallwhat her dancing had been, and rather took it for grantedthat she had been present than remembered anything about her.He passed, however, for an admirer of her dancing;and Sir Thomas, by no means displeased, prolonged theconversation on dancing in general, and was so wellengaged in describing the balls of Antigua, and listeningto what his nephew could relate of the different modesof dancing which had fallen within his observation,that he had not heard his carriage announced, and was firstcalled to the knowledge of it by the bustle of Mrs. Norris."Come, Fanny, Fanny, what are you about? We are going.Do not you see your aunt is going? Quick, quick! I cannotbear to keep good old Wilcox waiting. You should alwaysremember the coachman and horses. My dear Sir Thomas,we have settled it that the carriage should come back for you,and Edmund and William."Sir Thomas could not dissent, as it had been hisown arrangement, previously communicated to his wifeand sister; but _that_ seemed forgotten by Mrs. Norris,who must fancy that she settled it all herself.Fanny's last feeling in the visit was disappointment:for the shawl which Edmund was quietly taking from theservant to bring and put round her shoulders was seizedby Mr. Crawford's quicker hand, and she was obliged to beindebted to his more prominent attention.