William's desire of seeing Fanny dance made an impression on his uncle. Sir Thomas wished to gratify him, and to give pleasure to the young people; and having thought the matter over, the next morning at breakfast he said, "William, I do not wish you to leave Northamptonshire without this indulgence. It would give me pleasure to see you both dance. I believe we must not think of a Northampton ball. A dance at home would be more eligible; and if—"
"Ah, my dear Sir Thomas!" interrupted Mrs. Norris, "I knew what you were going to say. If dear Julia were at home, or dearest Mrs. Rushworth, you would be tempted to give the young people a dance at Mansfield. If they were at home, a ball you would have this very Christmas. Thank your uncle, William, thank your uncle!"
"My daughters," replied Sir Thomas, "have their pleasures at Brighton, and I hope are very happy; but the dance which I think of giving at Mansfield will be for their cousins."
Mrs. Norris had not another word to say. Her surprise and vexation required some minutes' silence to be settled into composure. His daughters absent and herself not consulted! There was comfort, however, soon at hand. She must be the doer of everything: Lady Bertram must be spared exertion, and it would all fall upon her. This reflection restored much of her good-humour.
Edmund, William, and Fanny, in their different ways, expressed as much grateful pleasure in the promised ball as Sir Thomas could desire. Edmund's feelings were for the other two. His father had never shown a kindness more to his satisfaction.
Lady Bertram was perfectly contented, and had no objections. Mrs. Norris was ready with suggestions as to the rooms fittest to be used, but found it all arranged; and it appeared that the day was settled too. Sir Thomas had been amusing himself with shaping a very complete outline of the business; had planned for twelve or fourteen couples: and had fixed on the 22nd as the most eligible day. The 22nd would be the last day of William’s visit; but where the days were so few it would be unwise to fix on any earlier. Mrs. Norris was obliged to be satisfied with thinking just the same, and with having been on the point of proposing the 22nd herself, as the best day for the purpose.
Invitations were sent, and many a young lady went to bed with her head full of happy cares, as well as Fanny. To her, the cares were almost beyond the happiness; for young and inexperienced, with small choice and no confidence in her own taste, the "how she should be dressed" was a point of painful worry; and the almost solitary ornament in her possession, a very pretty amber cross which William had brought her, was the greatest distress of all, for she had nothing but a bit of ribbon to fasten it to; and would that be allowable amidst of the rich ornaments which she supposed all the other young ladies would wear? And yet not to wear it! William had wanted to buy her a gold chain too, but the purchase had been beyond his means, and therefore not to wear the cross might mortify him. These were anxious considerations.
Edmund was at this time particularly full of cares: his mind being deeply occupied by two important events which were to fix his fate in life—ordination and matrimony. On the 23rd he was going to a friend near Peterborough, in the same situation as himself, and they were to receive ordination during Christmas week. Half his destiny would then be determined, but the other half might not go so smoothly. His duties would be established, but the wife who was to share and reward those duties might yet be unattainable.
He knew his own mind, but he was not perfectly assured of knowing Miss Crawford's. There were points on which they did not quite agree; and though trusting to her affection, and resolving to ask her within a very short time, he had many anxious feelings as to the result. Sometimes doubt and alarm intermingled with his hopes; and when he thought of her decided preference of a London life, what could he expect but a determined rejection?
The issue depended on one question. Did she love him well enough to give up what used to be essential points? Did she love him well enough to make them no longer essential? And this question, which he was continually repeating to himself, though oftenest answered with a "Yes," had sometimes its "No."
Miss Crawford was soon to leave Mansfield, and on this circumstance the "no" and the "yes" had been in alternation. He had seen her eyes sparkle as she spoke of the dear friend's letter, which invited her to London; she spoke with pleasure of the journey with a "no" in every tone.
But this had been on the day of the invitation. He had since heard her express herself differently: he had heard her tell Mrs. Grant that she should leave with regret; that she believed neither the friends nor the pleasures she was going to were worth those she left behind; and that though she felt she must go, and knew she should enjoy herself when once away, she was already looking forward to being at Mansfield again. Was there not a "yes" in all this?
With such matters to ponder over, Edmund could not think very much of the evening which the rest of the family were looking forward to. The whirl of a ballroom was not particularly favourable to the expression of serious feelings. To engage her early for the two first dances was all the command of happiness which he felt in his power.
Thursday was the day of the ball; and on Wednesday morning Fanny, still unsure as to what she ought to wear, determined to apply to Mrs. Grant and her sister. As Edmund and William were gone to Northampton, and she had reason to think Mr. Crawford likewise out, she walked down to the Parsonage. The privacy of such a discussion was most important to Fanny.
She met Miss Crawford just setting out to call on her. She explained her business at once. Miss Crawford, gratified, cordially urged Fanny to return with her to the Parsonage, and proposed their going up into her room, where they might have a comfortable coze without disturbing Dr. and Mrs. Grant. It was just the plan to suit Fanny; and they proceeded upstairs, and were soon deep in the interesting subject.
Miss Crawford gave her all her best judgment and taste, made everything easy by her suggestions, and gave her encouragement. The dress being settled—"But what shall you have for a necklace?" said Miss Crawford. "Shall not you wear your brother's cross?" As she spoke she was undoing a small parcel, which Fanny had observed in her hand when they met. Fanny explained that she did not know how either to wear the cross, or to refrain from wearing it.
She was answered by having a small trinket-box placed before her, and being requested to choose from several gold chains and necklaces. This parcel had been the object of Miss Crawford’s intended visit: and in the kindest manner she now urged Fanny's taking a chain for the cross.
"You see what a collection I have," said she; "more than I ever use. I offer nothing but an old necklace. You must oblige me."
Fanny resisted. The gift was too valuable. But Miss Crawford persevered, and argued the case with so much affectionate earnestness as to be finally successful. Fanny was obliged to yield; and proceeded to choose.
She looked and looked, longing to know which might be least valuable; and decided on her choice at last, by fancying there was one necklace more frequently placed before her eyes than the rest. It was of gold, prettily worked; and though Fanny would have preferred a longer and a plainer chain, she hoped, in fixing on this, to be choosing what Miss Crawford least wished to keep. Miss Crawford smiled, and put the necklace round her, making her see how well it looked.
Fanny was exceedingly pleased with it. She would rather, perhaps, have been obliged to some other person. But this was an unworthy feeling. Miss Crawford’s kindness proved her a real friend.
"When I wear this necklace I shall always think of you," said she, "and feel how very kind you were."
"You must think of somebody else too, when you wear that necklace," replied Miss Crawford. "You must think of Henry, for it was his choice first. He gave it to me. The sister is not to be in your mind without the brother too."
Fanny, in great confusion, would have returned the present instantly. To take what had been the gift of a brother, impossible! and with an embarrassment quite diverting to her companion, she laid down the necklace again, and seemed resolved either to take another or none at all.
Miss Crawford thought she had never seen a prettier consciousness. "My dear child," said she, laughing, "what are you afraid of? Do you think Henry will claim you stole it? or perhaps"—looking archly—"you suspect a confederacy between us, and that what I am now doing is with his knowledge and at his desire?"
With the deepest blushes Fanny protested against such a thought.
"Well, then," replied Miss Crawford more seriously, but without believing her, "to convince me that you suspect no trick, take the necklace and say no more about it. Its being a gift of my brother's need not make the smallest difference. He is always giving me something or other. As for this necklace, I do not suppose I have worn it six times: it is very pretty, but I never think of it; and you have happened to fix on the very one which I would rather part with than any other. Say no more against it, I entreat you."
Fanny dared not make any farther opposition; and with less happy thanks accepted the necklace again, for there was an expression in Miss Crawford's eyes which she could not be satisfied with.
It was impossible for her to be unaware of Mr. Crawford's change of manners. She had long seen it. He tried to please her: he was gallant and attentive, as he had been to her cousins: he wanted, she supposed, to cheat her of her tranquillity as he had cheated them. She was convinced that he had some concern in this necklace, for Miss Crawford, an indulgent sister, was careless as a woman and a friend.
Feeling that the possession of it did not bring much satisfaction, she walked home again, with a change rather than a lessening of cares.
CHAPTER 27