Bab Bab 8 · Chapter VIII

Fanny’s rides recommenced the very next day; and as it was a pleasant

fresh-feeling morning, less hot than the weather had lately been,

Edmund trusted that her losses, both of health and pleasure, would be

soon made good. While she was gone Mr. Rushworth arrived, escorting his

mother, who came to be civil and to shew her civility especially, in

urging the execution of the plan for visiting Sotherton, which had been

started a fortnight before, and which, in consequence of her subsequent

absence from home, had since lain dormant. Mrs. Norris and her nieces

were all well pleased with its revival, and an early day was named and

agreed to, provided Mr. Crawford should be disengaged: the young ladies

did not forget that stipulation, and though Mrs. Norris would willingly

have answered for his being so, they would neither authorise the

liberty nor run the risk; and at last, on a hint from Miss Bertram, Mr.

Rushworth discovered that the properest thing to be done was for him to

walk down to the Parsonage directly, and call on Mr. Crawford, and

inquire whether Wednesday would suit him or not.

Before his return Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford came in. Having been out

some time, and taken a different route to the house, they had not met

him. Comfortable hopes, however, were given that he would find Mr.

Crawford at home. The Sotherton scheme was mentioned of course. It was

hardly possible, indeed, that anything else should be talked of, for

Mrs. Norris was in high spirits about it; and Mrs. Rushworth, a

well-meaning, civil, prosing, pompous woman, who thought nothing of

consequence, but as it related to her own and her son’s concerns, had

not yet given over pressing Lady Bertram to be of the party. Lady

Bertram constantly declined it; but her placid manner of refusal made

Mrs. Rushworth still think she wished to come, till Mrs. Norris’s more

numerous words and louder tone convinced her of the truth.

“The fatigue would be too much for my sister, a great deal too much, I

assure you, my dear Mrs. Rushworth. Ten miles there, and ten back, you

know. You must excuse my sister on this occasion, and accept of our two

dear girls and myself without her. Sotherton is the only place that

could give her a _wish_ to go so far, but it cannot be, indeed. She

will have a companion in Fanny Price, you know, so it will all do very

well; and as for Edmund, as he is not here to speak for himself, I will

answer for his being most happy to join the party. He can go on

horseback, you know.”

Mrs. Rushworth being obliged to yield to Lady Bertram’s staying at

home, could only be sorry. “The loss of her ladyship’s company would be

a great drawback, and she should have been extremely happy to have seen

the young lady too, Miss Price, who had never been at Sotherton yet,

and it was a pity she should not see the place.”

“You are very kind, you are all kindness, my dear madam,” cried Mrs.

Norris; “but as to Fanny, she will have opportunities in plenty of

seeing Sotherton. She has time enough before her; and her going now is

quite out of the question. Lady Bertram could not possibly spare her.”

“Oh no! I cannot do without Fanny.”

Mrs. Rushworth proceeded next, under the conviction that everybody must

be wanting to see Sotherton, to include Miss Crawford in the

invitation; and though Mrs. Grant, who had not been at the trouble of

visiting Mrs. Rushworth, on her coming into the neighbourhood, civilly

declined it on her own account, she was glad to secure any pleasure for

her sister; and Mary, properly pressed and persuaded, was not long in

accepting her share of the civility. Mr. Rushworth came back from the

Parsonage successful; and Edmund made his appearance just in time to

learn what had been settled for Wednesday, to attend Mrs. Rushworth to

her carriage, and walk half-way down the park with the two other

ladies.

On his return to the breakfast-room, he found Mrs. Norris trying to

make up her mind as to whether Miss Crawford’s being of the party were

desirable or not, or whether her brother’s barouche would not be full

without her. The Miss Bertrams laughed at the idea, assuring her that

the barouche would hold four perfectly well, independent of the box, on

which _one_ might go with him.

“But why is it necessary,” said Edmund, “that Crawford’s carriage, or

his _only_, should be employed? Why is no use to be made of my mother’s

chaise? I could not, when the scheme was first mentioned the other day,

understand why a visit from the family were not to be made in the

carriage of the family.”

“What!” cried Julia: “go boxed up three in a postchaise in this

weather, when we may have seats in a barouche! No, my dear Edmund, that

will not quite do.”

“Besides,” said Maria, “I know that Mr. Crawford depends upon taking

us. After what passed at first, he would claim it as a promise.”

“And, my dear Edmund,” added Mrs. Norris, “taking out _two_ carriages

when _one_ will do, would be trouble for nothing; and, between

ourselves, coachman is not very fond of the roads between this and

Sotherton: he always complains bitterly of the narrow lanes scratching

his carriage, and you know one should not like to have dear Sir Thomas,

when he comes home, find all the varnish scratched off.”

“That would not be a very handsome reason for using Mr. Crawford’s,”

said Maria; “but the truth is, that Wilcox is a stupid old fellow, and

does not know how to drive. I will answer for it that we shall find no

inconvenience from narrow roads on Wednesday.”

“There is no hardship, I suppose, nothing unpleasant,” said Edmund, “in

going on the barouche box.”

“Unpleasant!” cried Maria: “oh dear! I believe it would be generally

thought the favourite seat. There can be no comparison as to one’s view

of the country. Probably Miss Crawford will choose the barouche-box

herself.”

“There can be no objection, then, to Fanny’s going with you; there can

be no doubt of your having room for her.”

“Fanny!” repeated Mrs. Norris; “my dear Edmund, there is no idea of her

going with us. She stays with her aunt. I told Mrs. Rushworth so. She

is not expected.”

“You can have no reason, I imagine, madam,” said he, addressing his

mother, “for wishing Fanny _not_ to be of the party, but as it relates

to yourself, to your own comfort. If you could do without her, you

would not wish to keep her at home?”

“To be sure not, but I _cannot_ do without her.”

“You can, if I stay at home with you, as I mean to do.”

There was a general cry out at this. “Yes,” he continued, “there is no

necessity for my going, and I mean to stay at home. Fanny has a great

desire to see Sotherton. I know she wishes it very much. She has not

often a gratification of the kind, and I am sure, ma’am, you would be

glad to give her the pleasure now?”

“Oh yes! very glad, if your aunt sees no objection.”

Mrs. Norris was very ready with the only objection which could

remain—their having positively assured Mrs. Rushworth that Fanny could

not go, and the very strange appearance there would consequently be in

taking her, which seemed to her a difficulty quite impossible to be got

over. It must have the strangest appearance! It would be something so

very unceremonious, so bordering on disrespect for Mrs. Rushworth,

whose own manners were such a pattern of good-breeding and attention,

that she really did not feel equal to it. Mrs. Norris had no affection

for Fanny, and no wish of procuring her pleasure at any time; but her

opposition to Edmund _now_, arose more from partiality for her own

scheme, because it _was_ her own, than from anything else. She felt

that she had arranged everything extremely well, and that any

alteration must be for the worse. When Edmund, therefore, told her in

reply, as he did when she would give him the hearing, that she need not

distress herself on Mrs. Rushworth’s account, because he had taken the

opportunity, as he walked with her through the hall, of mentioning Miss

Price as one who would probably be of the party, and had directly

received a very sufficient invitation for his cousin, Mrs. Norris was

too much vexed to submit with a very good grace, and would only say,

“Very well, very well, just as you chuse, settle it your own way, I am

sure I do not care about it.”

“It seems very odd,” said Maria, “that you should be staying at home

instead of Fanny.”

“I am sure she ought to be very much obliged to you,” added Julia,

hastily leaving the room as she spoke, from a consciousness that she

ought to offer to stay at home herself.

“Fanny will feel quite as grateful as the occasion requires,” was

Edmund’s only reply, and the subject dropt.

Fanny’s gratitude, when she heard the plan, was, in fact, much greater

than her pleasure. She felt Edmund’s kindness with all, and more than

all, the sensibility which he, unsuspicious of her fond attachment,

could be aware of; but that he should forego any enjoyment on her

account gave her pain, and her own satisfaction in seeing Sotherton

would be nothing without him.

The next meeting of the two Mansfield families produced another

alteration in the plan, and one that was admitted with general

approbation. Mrs. Grant offered herself as companion for the day to

Lady Bertram in lieu of her son, and Dr. Grant was to join them at

dinner. Lady Bertram was very well pleased to have it so, and the young

ladies were in spirits again. Even Edmund was very thankful for an

arrangement which restored him to his share of the party; and Mrs.

Norris thought it an excellent plan, and had it at her tongue’s end,

and was on the point of proposing it, when Mrs. Grant spoke.

Wednesday was fine, and soon after breakfast the barouche arrived, Mr.

Crawford driving his sisters; and as everybody was ready, there was

nothing to be done but for Mrs. Grant to alight and the others to take

their places. The place of all places, the envied seat, the post of

honour, was unappropriated. To whose happy lot was it to fall? While

each of the Miss Bertrams were meditating how best, and with the most

appearance of obliging the others, to secure it, the matter was settled

by Mrs. Grant’s saying, as she stepped from the carriage, “As there are

five of you, it will be better that one should sit with Henry; and as

you were saying lately that you wished you could drive, Julia, I think

this will be a good opportunity for you to take a lesson.”

Happy Julia! Unhappy Maria! The former was on the barouche-box in a

moment, the latter took her seat within, in gloom and mortification;

and the carriage drove off amid the good wishes of the two remaining

ladies, and the barking of Pug in his mistress’s arms.

Their road was through a pleasant country; and Fanny, whose rides had

never been extensive, was soon beyond her knowledge, and was very happy

in observing all that was new, and admiring all that was pretty. She

was not often invited to join in the conversation of the others, nor

did she desire it. Her own thoughts and reflections were habitually her

best companions; and, in observing the appearance of the country, the

bearings of the roads, the difference of soil, the state of the

harvest, the cottages, the cattle, the children, she found

entertainment that could only have been heightened by having Edmund to

speak to of what she felt. That was the only point of resemblance

between her and the lady who sat by her: in everything but a value for

Edmund, Miss Crawford was very unlike her. She had none of Fanny’s

delicacy of taste, of mind, of feeling; she saw Nature, inanimate

Nature, with little observation; her attention was all for men and

women, her talents for the light and lively. In looking back after

Edmund, however, when there was any stretch of road behind them, or

when he gained on them in ascending a considerable hill, they were

united, and a “there he is” broke at the same moment from them both,

more than once.

For the first seven miles Miss Bertram had very little real comfort:

her prospect always ended in Mr. Crawford and her sister sitting side

by side, full of conversation and merriment; and to see only his

expressive profile as he turned with a smile to Julia, or to catch the

laugh of the other, was a perpetual source of irritation, which her own

sense of propriety could but just smooth over. When Julia looked back,

it was with a countenance of delight, and whenever she spoke to them,

it was in the highest spirits: “her view of the country was charming,

she wished they could all see it,” etc.; but her only offer of exchange

was addressed to Miss Crawford, as they gained the summit of a long

hill, and was not more inviting than this: “Here is a fine burst of

country. I wish you had my seat, but I dare say you will not take it,

let me press you ever so much;” and Miss Crawford could hardly answer

before they were moving again at a good pace.

When they came within the influence of Sotherton associations, it was

better for Miss Bertram, who might be said to have two strings to her

bow. She had Rushworth feelings, and Crawford feelings, and in the

vicinity of Sotherton the former had considerable effect. Mr.

Rushworth’s consequence was hers. She could not tell Miss Crawford that

“those woods belonged to Sotherton,” she could not carelessly observe

that “she believed that it was now all Mr. Rushworth’s property on each

side of the road,” without elation of heart; and it was a pleasure to

increase with their approach to the capital freehold mansion, and

ancient manorial residence of the family, with all its rights of

court-leet and court-baron.

“Now we shall have no more rough road, Miss Crawford; our difficulties

are over. The rest of the way is such as it ought to be. Mr. Rushworth

has made it since he succeeded to the estate. Here begins the village.

Those cottages are really a disgrace. The church spire is reckoned

remarkably handsome. I am glad the church is not so close to the great

house as often happens in old places. The annoyance of the bells must

be terrible. There is the parsonage: a tidy-looking house, and I

understand the clergyman and his wife are very decent people. Those are

almshouses, built by some of the family. To the right is the steward’s

house; he is a very respectable man. Now we are coming to the

lodge-gates; but we have nearly a mile through the park still. It is

not ugly, you see, at this end; there is some fine timber, but the

situation of the house is dreadful. We go down hill to it for half a

mile, and it is a pity, for it would not be an ill-looking place if it

had a better approach.”

Miss Crawford was not slow to admire; she pretty well guessed Miss

Bertram’s feelings, and made it a point of honour to promote her

enjoyment to the utmost. Mrs. Norris was all delight and volubility;

and even Fanny had something to say in admiration, and might be heard

with complacency. Her eye was eagerly taking in everything within her

reach; and after being at some pains to get a view of the house, and

observing that “it was a sort of building which she could not look at

but with respect,” she added, “Now, where is the avenue? The house

fronts the east, I perceive. The avenue, therefore, must be at the back

of it. Mr. Rushworth talked of the west front.”

“Yes, it is exactly behind the house; begins at a little distance, and

ascends for half a mile to the extremity of the grounds. You may see

something of it here—something of the more distant trees. It is oak

entirely.”

Miss Bertram could now speak with decided information of what she had

known nothing about when Mr. Rushworth had asked her opinion; and her

spirits were in as happy a flutter as vanity and pride could furnish,

when they drove up to the spacious stone steps before the principal

entrance.