Chapter XXXVIII

by Jane Austen

　　The novelty of travelling, and the happiness of beingwith William, soon produced their natural effect onFanny's spirits, when Mansfield Park was fairly left behind;and by the time their first stage was ended, and theywere to quit Sir Thomas's carriage, she was able to takeleave of the old coachman, and send back proper messages,with cheerful looks.Of pleasant talk between the brother and sister therewas no end. Everything supplied an amusement to the highglee of William's mind, and he was full of frolic andjoke in the intervals of their higher-toned subjects,all of which ended, if they did not begin, in praiseof the Thrush, conjectures how she would be employed,schemes for an action with some superior force,which (supposing the first lieutenant out of the way,and William was not very merciful to the first lieutenant)was to give himself the next step as soon as possible,or speculations upon prize-money, which was to be generouslydistributed at home, with only the reservation of enoughto make the little cottage comfortable, in which he and Fannywere to pass all their middle and later life together.Fanny's immediate concerns, as far as they involvedMr. Crawford, made no part of their conversation.William knew what had passed, and from his heart lamentedthat his sister's feelings should be so cold towards a manwhom he must consider as the first of human characters;but he was of an age to be all for love, and thereforeunable to blame; and knowing her wish on the subject,he would not distress her by the slightest allusion.She had reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten byMr. Crawford. She had heard repeatedly from his sister withinthe three weeks which had passed since their leaving Mansfield,and in each letter there had been a few lines from himself,warm and determined like his speeches. It was a correspondencewhich Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she had feared.Miss Crawford's style of writing, lively and affectionate,was itself an evil, independent of what she was thusforced into reading from the brother's pen, for Edmundwould never rest till she had read the chief of the letterto him; and then she had to listen to his admirationof her language, and the warmth of her attachments.There had, in fact, been so much of message, of allusion,of recollection, so much of Mansfield in every letter,that Fanny could not but suppose it meant for him to hear;and to find herself forced into a purpose of that kind,compelled into a correspondence which was bringing herthe addresses of the man she did not love, and obligingher to administer to the adverse passion of the man she did,was cruelly mortifying. Here, too, her present removalpromised advantage. When no longer under the same roofwith Edmund, she trusted that Miss Crawford would have nomotive for writing strong enough to overcome the trouble,and that at Portsmouth their correspondence would dwindleinto nothing.With such thoughts as these, among ten hundred others,Fanny proceeded in her journey safely and cheerfully,and as expeditiously as could rationally be hopedin the dirty month of February. They entered Oxford,but she could take only a hasty glimpse of Edmund'scollege as they passed along, and made no stop anywheretill they reached Newbury, where a comfortable meal,uniting dinner and supper, wound up the enjoyments andfatigues of the day.The next morning saw them off again at an early hour;and with no events, and no delays, they regularly advanced,and were in the environs of Portsmouth while there was yetdaylight for Fanny to look around her, and wonder at thenew buildings. They passed the drawbridge, and enteredthe town; and the light was only beginning to fail as,guided by William's powerful voice, they were rattledinto a narrow street, leading from the High Street,and drawn up before the door of a small house now inhabitedby Mr. Price.Fanny was all agitation and flutter; all hope and apprehension.The moment they stopped, a trollopy-looking maidservant,seemingly in waiting for them at the door, stepped forward,and more intent on telling the news than giving them any help,immediately began with, "The Thrush is gone out of harbour,please sir, and one of the officers has been here to--" She was interrupted by a fine tall boy of eleven years old,who, rushing out of the house, pushed the maid aside,and while William was opening the chaise-door himself,called out, "You are just in time. We have been lookingfor you this half-hour. The Thrush went out of harbourthis morning. I saw her. It was a beautiful sight.And they think she will have her orders in a day or two.And Mr. Campbell was here at four o'clock to ask for you:he has got one of the Thrush's boats, and is going offto her at six, and hoped you would be here in time to gowith him."A stare or two at Fanny, as William helped her out ofthe carriage, was all the voluntary notice which thisbrother bestowed; but he made no objection to herkissing him, though still entirely engaged in detailingfarther particulars of the Thrush's going out of harbour,in which he had a strong right of interest, being tocommence his career of seamanship in her at this very time.Another moment and Fanny was in the narrow entrance-passageof the house, and in her mother's arms, who met herthere with looks of true kindness, and with featureswhich Fanny loved the more, because they brought her auntBertram's before her, and there were her two sisters:Susan, a well-grown fine girl of fourteen, and Betsey,the youngest of the family, about five--both glad to seeher in their way, though with no advantage of mannerin receiving her. But manner Fanny did not want.Would they but love her, she should be satisfied.She was then taken into a parlour, so small that herfirst conviction was of its being only a passage-roomto something better, and she stood for a moment expectingto be invited on; but when she saw there was no other door,and that there were signs of habitation before her,she called back her thoughts, reproved herself, and grievedlest they should have been suspected. Her mother,however, could not stay long enough to suspect anything.She was gone again to the street-door, to welcome William."Oh! my dear William, how glad I am to see you.But have you heard about the Thrush? She is gone out ofharbour already; three days before we had any thought of it;and I do not know what I am to do about Sam's things,they will never be ready in time; for she may have her ordersto-morrow, perhaps. It takes me quite unawares. And nowyou must be off for Spithead too. Campbell has been here,quite in a worry about you; and now what shall we do?I thought to have had such a comfortable evening with you,and here everything comes upon me at once."Her son answered cheerfully, telling her that everythingwas always for the best; and making light of his owninconvenience in being obliged to hurry away so soon."To be sure, I had much rather she had stayed in harbour,that I might have sat a few hours with you in comfort;but as there is a boat ashore, I had better go off at once,and there is no help for it. Whereabouts does the Thrushlay at Spithead? Near the Canopus? But no matter;here's Fanny in the parlour, and why should we stay inthe passage? Come, mother, you have hardly looked at yourown dear Fanny yet."In they both came, and Mrs. Price having kindly kissedher daughter again, and commented a little on her growth,began with very natural solicitude to feel for theirfatigues and wants as travellers."Poor dears! how tired you must both be! and now,what will you have? I began to think you would never come.Betsey and I have been watching for you this half-hour.And when did you get anything to eat? And what would youlike to have now? I could not tell whether you would befor some meat, or only a dish of tea, after your journey,or else I would have got something ready. And now Iam afraid Campbell will be here before there is timeto dress a steak, and we have no butcher at hand.It is very inconvenient to have no butcher in the street.We were better off in our last house. Perhaps you wouldlike some tea as soon as it can be got."They both declared they should prefer it to anything."Then, Betsey, my dear, run into the kitchen and see if Rebeccahas put the water on; and tell her to bring in the tea-thingsas soon as she can. I wish we could get the bell mended;but Betsey is a very handy little messenger."Betsey went with alacrity, proud to shew her abilitiesbefore her fine new sister."Dear me!" continued the anxious mother, "what a sadfire we have got, and I dare say you are both starvedwith cold. Draw your chair nearer, my dear. I cannotthink what Rebecca has been about. I am sure I told herto bring some coals half an hour ago. Susan, you shouldhave taken care of the fire.""I was upstairs, mama, moving my things," said Susan,in a fearless, self-defending tone, which startled Fanny."You know you had but just settled that my sister Fannyand I should have the other room; and I could not getRebecca to give me any help."Farther discussion was prevented by various bustles:first, the driver came to be paid; then there was a squabblebetween Sam and Rebecca about the manner of carrying uphis sister's trunk, which he would manage all his own way;and lastly, in walked Mr. Price himself, his own loudvoice preceding him, as with something of the oath kindhe kicked away his son's port-manteau and his daughter'sbandbox in the passage, and called out for a candle;no candle was brought, however, and he walked into the room.Fanny with doubting feelings had risen to meet him,but sank down again on finding herself undistinguishedin the dusk, and unthought of. With a friendly shakeof his son's hand, and an eager voice, he instantly began--"Ha! welcome back, my boy. Glad to see you. Have you heardthe news? The Thrush went out of harbour this morning.Sharp is the word, you see! By G--, you are just in time!The doctor has been here inquiring for you: he has gotone of the boats, and is to be off for Spithead by six,so you had better go with him. I have been to Turner'sabout your mess; it is all in a way to be done.I should not wonder if you had your orders to-morrow:but you cannot sail with this wind, if you are to cruiseto the westward; and Captain Walsh thinks you will certainlyhave a cruise to the westward, with the Elephant.By G--, I wish you may! But old Scholey was saying,just now, that he thought you would be sent first tothe Texel. Well, well, we are ready, whatever happens.But by G--, you lost a fine sight by not being herein the morning to see the Thrush go out of harbour!I would not have been out of the way for a thousand pounds.Old Scholey ran in at breakfast-time, to say she hadslipped her moorings and was coming out, I jumped up,and made but two steps to the platform. If ever therewas a perfect beauty afloat, she is one; and there she laysat Spithead, and anybody in England would take her for aneight-and-twenty. I was upon the platform two hours thisafternoon looking at her. She lays close to the Endymion,between her and the Cleopatra, just to the eastward of thesheer hulk.""Ha!" cried William, "_that's_ just where I should haveput her myself. It's the best berth at Spithead.But here is my sister, sir; here is Fanny," turning andleading her forward; "it is so dark you do not see her."With an acknowledgment that he had quite forgot her,Mr. Price now received his daughter; and having givenher a cordial hug, and observed that she was grown intoa woman, and he supposed would be wanting a husband soon,seemed very much inclined to forget her again.Fanny shrunk back to her seat, with feelings sadlypained by his language and his smell of spirits;and he talked on only to his son, and only of the Thrush,though William, warmly interested as he was in that subject,more than once tried to make his father think of Fanny,and her long absence and long journey.After sitting some time longer, a candle was obtained;but as there was still no appearance of tea, nor, fromBetsey's reports from the kitchen, much hope of any undera considerable period, William determined to go and changehis dress, and make the necessary preparations for his removalon board directly, that he might have his tea in comfortafterwards.As he left the room, two rosy-faced boys, ragged and dirty,about eight and nine years old, rushed into it just releasedfrom school, and coming eagerly to see their sister,and tell that the Thrush was gone out of harbour;Tom and Charles. Charles had been born since Fanny'sgoing away, but Tom she had often helped to nurse,and now felt a particular pleasure in seeing again.Both were kissed very tenderly, but Tom she wantedto keep by her, to try to trace the features of the babyshe had loved, and talked to, of his infant preferenceof herself. Tom, however, had no mind for such treatment:he came home not to stand and be talked to, but to run aboutand make a noise; and both boys had soon burst from her,and slammed the parlour-door till her temples ached.She had now seen all that were at home; there remainedonly two brothers between herself and Susan,one of whom was a clerk in a public office in London,and the other midshipman on board an Indiaman.But though she had _seen_ all the members of the family,she had not yet _heard_ all the noise they could make.Another quarter of an hour brought her a great deal more.William was soon calling out from the landing-placeof the second story for his mother and for Rebecca.He was in distress for something that he had left there,and did not find again. A key was mislaid, Betsey accusedof having got at his new hat, and some slight, but essentialalteration of his uniform waistcoat, which he had beenpromised to have done for him, entirely neglected.Mrs. Price, Rebecca, and Betsey all went up to defend themselves,all talking together, but Rebecca loudest, and the jobwas to be done as well as it could in a great hurry;William trying in vain to send Betsey down again, or keepher from being troublesome where she was; the whole of which,as almost every door in the house was open, could be plainlydistinguished in the parlour, except when drowned at intervalsby the superior noise of Sam, Tom, and Charles chasingeach other up and down stairs, and tumbling about and hallooing.Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the houseand thinness of the walls brought everything so closeto her, that, added to the fatigue of her journey, and allher recent agitation, she hardly knew how to bear it._Within_ the room all was tranquil enough, for Susan havingdisappeared with the others, there were soon only her fatherand herself remaining; and he, taking out a newspaper,the accustomary loan of a neighbour, applied himself tostudying it, without seeming to recollect her existence.The solitary candle was held between himself and the paper,without any reference to her possible convenience;but she had nothing to do, and was glad to have the lightscreened from her aching head, as she sat in bewildered,broken, sorrowful contemplation.She was at home. But, alas! it was not such a home,she had not such a welcome, as--she checked herself;she was unreasonable. What right had she to be of importanceto her family? She could have none, so long lost sight of!William's concerns must be dearest, they always had been,and he had every right. Yet to have so little saidor asked about herself, to have scarcely an inquiry madeafter Mansfield! It did pain her to have Mansfield forgotten;the friends who had done so much--the dear, dear friends!But here, one subject swallowed up all the rest.Perhaps it must be so. The destination of the Thrushmust be now preeminently interesting. A day or twomight shew the difference. _She_ only was to blame.Yet she thought it would not have been so at Mansfield.No, in her uncle's house there would have been aconsideration of times and seasons, a regulation of subject,a propriety, an attention towards everybody which therewas not here.The only interruption which thoughts like these receivedfor nearly half an hour was from a sudden burst of herfather's, not at all calculated to compose them. At a morethan ordinary pitch of thumping and hallooing in the passage,he exclaimed, "Devil take those young dogs! How they aresinging out! Ay, Sam's voice louder than all the rest!That boy is fit for a boatswain. Holla, you there!Sam, stop your confounded pipe, or I shall be after you."This threat was so palpably disregarded, that thoughwithin five minutes afterwards the three boys all burstinto the room together and sat down, Fanny could notconsider it as a proof of anything more than their beingfor the time thoroughly fagged, which their hot facesand panting breaths seemed to prove, especially as theywere still kicking each other's shins, and hallooingout at sudden starts immediately under their father's eye.The next opening of the door brought something more welcome:it was for the tea-things, which she had begun almostto despair of seeing that evening. Susan and anattendant girl, whose inferior appearance informed Fanny,to her great surprise, that she had previously seen theupper servant, brought in everything necessary for the meal;Susan looking, as she put the kettle on the fire and glancedat her sister, as if divided between the agreeable triumphof shewing her activity and usefulness, and the dreadof being thought to demean herself by such an office."She had been into the kitchen," she said, "to hurry Sallyand help make the toast, and spread the bread and butter,or she did not know when they should have got tea,and she was sure her sister must want something afterher journey."Fanny was very thankful. She could not but own that sheshould be very glad of a little tea, and Susan immediatelyset about making it, as if pleased to have the employmentall to herself; and with only a little unnecessary bustle,and some few injudicious attempts at keeping her brothersin better order than she could, acquitted herself very well.Fanny's spirit was as much refreshed as her body; her headand heart were soon the better for such well-timed kindness.Susan had an open, sensible countenance; she was like William,and Fanny hoped to find her like him in dispositionand goodwill towards herself.In this more placid state of things William reentered,followed not far behind by his mother and Betsey.He, complete in his lieutenant's uniform, looking andmoving all the taller, firmer, and more graceful for it,and with the happiest smile over his face, walked up directlyto Fanny, who, rising from her seat, looked at him for amoment in speechless admiration, and then threw her armsround his neck to sob out her various emotions of pain andpleasure.Anxious not to appear unhappy, she soon recovered herself;and wiping away her tears, was able to notice and admireall the striking parts of his dress; listening with revivingspirits to his cheerful hopes of being on shore some partof every day before they sailed, and even of gettingher to Spithead to see the sloop.The next bustle brought in Mr. Campbell, the surgeonof the Thrush, a very well-behaved young man, who cameto call for his friend, and for whom there was with somecontrivance found a chair, and with some hasty washing ofthe young tea-maker's, a cup and saucer; and after anotherquarter of an hour of earnest talk between the gentlemen,noise rising upon noise, and bustle upon bustle, men andboys at last all in motion together, the moment camefor setting off; everything was ready, William took leave,and all of them were gone; for the three boys, in spiteof their mother's entreaty, determined to see their brotherand Mr. Campbell to the sally-port; and Mr. Price walkedoff at the same time to carry back his neighbour's newspaper.Something like tranquillity might now be hoped for;and accordingly, when Rebecca had been prevailed onto carry away the tea-things, and Mrs. Price had walkedabout the room some time looking for a shirt-sleeve, whichBetsey at last hunted out from a drawer in the kitchen,the small party of females were pretty well composed,and the mother having lamented again over the impossibilityof getting Sam ready in time, was at leisure to thinkof her eldest daughter and the friends she had come from.A few inquiries began: but one of the earliest--"How didsister Bertram manage about her servants? "Was sheas much plagued as herself to get tolerable servants?"--soon led her mind away from Northamptonshire, and fixed iton her own domestic grievances, and the shocking characterof all the Portsmouth servants, of whom she believed herown two were the very worst, engrossed her completely.The Bertrams were all forgotten in detailing the faultsof Rebecca, against whom Susan had also much to depose,and little Betsey a great deal more, and who did seemso thoroughly without a single recommendation, that Fannycould not help modestly presuming that her mother meantto part with her when her year was up."Her year!" cried Mrs. Price; "I am sure I hope Ishall be rid of her before she has staid a year,for that will not be up till November. Servants are cometo such a pass, my dear, in Portsmouth, that it is quitea miracle if one keeps them more than half a year.I have no hope of ever being settled; and if I was topart with Rebecca, I should only get something worse.And yet I do not think I am a very difficult mistressto please; and I am sure the place is easy enough,for there is always a girl under her, and I often do halfthe work myself."Fanny was silent; but not from being convinced that theremight not be a remedy found for some of these evils.As she now sat looking at Betsey, she could not but thinkparticularly of another sister, a very pretty little girl,whom she had left there not much younger when she wentinto Northamptonshire, who had died a few years afterwards.There had been something remarkably amiable about her.Fanny in those early days had preferred her to Susan;and when the news of her death had at last reached Mansfield,had for a short time been quite afflicted. The sightof Betsey brought the image of little Mary back again,but she would not have pained her mother by alluding to herfor the world. While considering her with these ideas,Betsey, at a small distance, was holding out something tocatch her eyes, meaning to screen it at the same time fromSusan's."What have you got there, my love?" said Fanny;"come and shew it to me."It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan, claiming itas her own, and trying to get it away; but the child ranto her mother's protection, and Susan could only reproach,which she did very warmly, and evidently hoping tointerest Fanny on her side. "It was very hard that shewas not to have her _own_ knife; it was her own knife;little sister Mary had left it to her upon her deathbed,and she ought to have had it to keep herself long ago.But mama kept it from her, and was always letting Betseyget hold of it; and the end of it would be that Betseywould spoil it, and get it for her own, though mamahad _promised_ her that Betsey should not have it in herown hands."Fanny was quite shocked. Every feeling of duty,honour, and tenderness was wounded by her sister'sspeech and her mother's reply."Now, Susan," cried Mrs. Price, in a complaining voice,"now, how can you be so cross? You are always quarrellingabout that knife. I wish you would not be so quarrelsome.Poor little Betsey; how cross Susan is to you! But youshould not have taken it out, my dear, when I sent youto the drawer. You know I told you not to touch it,because Susan is so cross about it. I must hide itanother time, Betsey. Poor Mary little thought it wouldbe such a bone of contention when she gave it me to keep,only two hours before she died. Poor little soul! she couldbut just speak to be heard, and she said so prettily, "Let sisterSusan have my knife, mama, when I am dead and buried."Poor little dear! she was so fond of it, Fanny, that shewould have it lay by her in bed, all through her illness.It was the gift of her good godmother, old Mrs. AdmiralMaxwell, only six weeks before she was taken for death.Poor little sweet creature! Well, she was taken awayfrom evil to come. My own Betsey" (fondling her),"_you_ have not the luck of such a good godmother.Aunt Norris lives too far off to think of such littlepeople as you."Fanny had indeed nothing to convey from aunt Norris,but a message to say she hoped that her god-daughterwas a good girl, and learnt her book. There had beenat one moment a slight murmur in the drawing-roomat Mansfield Park about sending her a prayer-book;but no second sound had been heard of such a purpose.Mrs. Norris, however, had gone home and taken down twoold prayer-books of her husband with that idea; but,upon examination, the ardour of generosity went off.One was found to have too small a print for a child's eyes,and the other to be too cumbersome for her to carry about.Fanny, fatigued and fatigued again, was thankful to acceptthe first invitation of going to bed; and before Betseyhad finished her cry at being allowed to sit up only onehour extraordinary in honour of sister, she was off,leaving all below in confusion and noise again; the boysbegging for toasted cheese, her father calling out for hisrum and water, and Rebecca never where she ought to be.There was nothing to raise her spirits in the confinedand scantily furnished chamber that she was to sharewith Susan. The smallness of the rooms above and below,indeed, and the narrowness of the passage and staircase,struck her beyond her imagination. She soon learned to thinkwith respect of her own little attic at Mansfield Park,in _that_ house reckoned too small for anybody's comfort.