Chapter Chapter 43 · Chapter XLIII

It was presumed that Mr. Crawford was travelling back, to London, on

the morrow, for nothing more was seen of him at Mr. Price’s; and two

days afterwards, it was a fact ascertained to Fanny by the following

letter from his sister, opened and read by her, on another account,

with the most anxious curiosity:—

“I have to inform you, my dearest Fanny, that Henry has been down to

Portsmouth to see you; that he had a delightful walk with you to the

dockyard last Saturday, and one still more to be dwelt on the next day,

on the ramparts; when the balmy air, the sparkling sea, and your sweet

looks and conversation were altogether in the most delicious harmony,

and afforded sensations which are to raise ecstasy even in retrospect.

This, as well as I understand, is to be the substance of my

information. He makes me write, but I do not know what else is to be

communicated, except this said visit to Portsmouth, and these two said

walks, and his introduction to your family, especially to a fair sister

of yours, a fine girl of fifteen, who was of the party on the ramparts,

taking her first lesson, I presume, in love. I have not time for

writing much, but it would be out of place if I had, for this is to be

a mere letter of business, penned for the purpose of conveying

necessary information, which could not be delayed without risk of evil.

My dear, dear Fanny, if I had you here, how I would talk to you! You

should listen to me till you were tired, and advise me till you were

still tired more; but it is impossible to put a hundredth part of my

great mind on paper, so I will abstain altogether, and leave you to

guess what you like. I have no news for you. You have politics, of

course; and it would be too bad to plague you with the names of people

and parties that fill up my time. I ought to have sent you an account

of your cousin’s first party, but I was lazy, and now it is too long

ago; suffice it, that everything was just as it ought to be, in a style

that any of her connexions must have been gratified to witness, and

that her own dress and manners did her the greatest credit. My friend,

Mrs. Fraser, is mad for such a house, and it would not make _me_

miserable. I go to Lady Stornaway after Easter; she seems in high

spirits, and very happy. I fancy Lord S. is very good-humoured and

pleasant in his own family, and I do not think him so very ill-looking

as I did—at least, one sees many worse. He will not do by the side of

your cousin Edmund. Of the last-mentioned hero, what shall I say? If I

avoided his name entirely, it would look suspicious. I will say, then,

that we have seen him two or three times, and that my friends here are

very much struck with his gentlemanlike appearance. Mrs. Fraser (no bad

judge) declares she knows but three men in town who have so good a

person, height, and air; and I must confess, when he dined here the

other day, there were none to compare with him, and we were a party of

sixteen. Luckily there is no distinction of dress nowadays to tell

tales, but—but—but Yours affectionately.”

“I had almost forgot (it was Edmund’s fault: he gets into my head more

than does me good) one very material thing I had to say from Henry and

myself—I mean about our taking you back into Northamptonshire. My dear

little creature, do not stay at Portsmouth to lose your pretty looks.

Those vile sea-breezes are the ruin of beauty and health. My poor aunt

always felt affected if within ten miles of the sea, which the Admiral

of course never believed, but I know it was so. I am at your service

and Henry’s, at an hour’s notice. I should like the scheme, and we

would make a little circuit, and shew you Everingham in our way, and

perhaps you would not mind passing through London, and seeing the

inside of St. George’s, Hanover Square. Only keep your cousin Edmund

from me at such a time: I should not like to be tempted. What a long

letter! one word more. Henry, I find, has some idea of going into

Norfolk again upon some business that _you_ approve; but this cannot

possibly be permitted before the middle of next week; that is, he

cannot anyhow be spared till after the 14th, for _we_ have a party that

evening. The value of a man like Henry, on such an occasion, is what

you can have no conception of; so you must take it upon my word to be

inestimable. He will see the Rushworths, which I own I am not sorry

for—having a little curiosity, and so I think has he—though he will not

acknowledge it.”

This was a letter to be run through eagerly, to be read deliberately,

to supply matter for much reflection, and to leave everything in

greater suspense than ever. The only certainty to be drawn from it was,

that nothing decisive had yet taken place. Edmund had not yet spoken.

How Miss Crawford really felt, how she meant to act, or might act

without or against her meaning; whether his importance to her were

quite what it had been before the last separation; whether, if

lessened, it were likely to lessen more, or to recover itself, were

subjects for endless conjecture, and to be thought of on that day and

many days to come, without producing any conclusion. The idea that

returned the oftenest was that Miss Crawford, after proving herself

cooled and staggered by a return to London habits, would yet prove

herself in the end too much attached to him to give him up. She would

try to be more ambitious than her heart would allow. She would

hesitate, she would tease, she would condition, she would require a

great deal, but she would finally accept.

This was Fanny’s most frequent expectation. A house in town—that, she

thought, must be impossible. Yet there was no saying what Miss Crawford

might not ask. The prospect for her cousin grew worse and worse. The

woman who could speak of him, and speak only of his appearance! What an

unworthy attachment! To be deriving support from the commendations of

Mrs. Fraser! _She_ who had known him intimately half a year! Fanny was

ashamed of her. Those parts of the letter which related only to Mr.

Crawford and herself, touched her, in comparison, slightly. Whether Mr.

Crawford went into Norfolk before or after the 14th was certainly no

concern of hers, though, everything considered, she thought he _would_

go without delay. That Miss Crawford should endeavour to secure a

meeting between him and Mrs. Rushworth, was all in her worst line of

conduct, and grossly unkind and ill-judged; but she hoped _he_ would

not be actuated by any such degrading curiosity. He acknowledged no

such inducement, and his sister ought to have given him credit for

better feelings than her own.

She was yet more impatient for another letter from town after receiving

this than she had been before; and for a few days was so unsettled by

it altogether, by what had come, and what might come, that her usual

readings and conversation with Susan were much suspended. She could not

command her attention as she wished. If Mr. Crawford remembered her

message to her cousin, she thought it very likely, most likely, that he

would write to her at all events; it would be most consistent with his

usual kindness; and till she got rid of this idea, till it gradually

wore off, by no letters appearing in the course of three or four days

more, she was in a most restless, anxious state.

At length, a something like composure succeeded. Suspense must be

submitted to, and must not be allowed to wear her out, and make her

useless. Time did something, her own exertions something more, and she

resumed her attentions to Susan, and again awakened the same interest

in them.

Susan was growing very fond of her, and though without any of the early

delight in books which had been so strong in Fanny, with a disposition

much less inclined to sedentary pursuits, or to information for

information’s sake, she had so strong a desire of not _appearing_

ignorant, as, with a good clear understanding, made her a most

attentive, profitable, thankful pupil. Fanny was her oracle. Fanny’s

explanations and remarks were a most important addition to every essay,

or every chapter of history. What Fanny told her of former times dwelt

more on her mind than the pages of Goldsmith; and she paid her sister

the compliment of preferring her style to that of any printed author.

The early habit of reading was wanting.

Their conversations, however, were not always on subjects so high as

history or morals. Others had their hour; and of lesser matters, none

returned so often, or remained so long between them, as Mansfield Park,

a description of the people, the manners, the amusements, the ways of

Mansfield Park. Susan, who had an innate taste for the genteel and

well-appointed, was eager to hear, and Fanny could not but indulge

herself in dwelling on so beloved a theme. She hoped it was not wrong;

though, after a time, Susan’s very great admiration of everything said

or done in her uncle’s house, and earnest longing to go into

Northamptonshire, seemed almost to blame her for exciting feelings

which could not be gratified.

Poor Susan was very little better fitted for home than her elder

sister; and as Fanny grew thoroughly to understand this, she began to

feel that when her own release from Portsmouth came, her happiness

would have a material drawback in leaving Susan behind. That a girl so

capable of being made everything good should be left in such hands,

distressed her more and more. Were _she_ likely to have a home to

invite her to, what a blessing it would be! And had it been possible

for her to return Mr. Crawford’s regard, the probability of his being

very far from objecting to such a measure would have been the greatest

increase of all her own comforts. She thought he was really

good-tempered, and could fancy his entering into a plan of that sort

most pleasantly.