Fanny had not forgotten Mr. Crawford when she awoke the next morning; but she was still sanguine as to its effect of her note. If Mr. Crawford would but go away! That was what she most earnestly desired: go and take his sister with him, as he had intended. And why it was not done already she could not think.
She was astonished to see Mr. Crawford coming up to the house again, at an hour as early as the day before. His coming might have nothing to do with her, but she must avoid seeing him if possible; and she resolved to remain upstairs during his visit, unless actually sent for.
She sat some time in a good deal of agitation, listening, trembling, and fearing to be sent for every moment; but as no footsteps approached the East room, she grew gradually composed, and was able to employ herself, and to hope that Mr. Crawford would go without her being obliged to know anything of the matter.
Nearly half an hour had passed, and she was growing very comfortable, when suddenly the sound of a heavy step was heard, an unusual step in that part of the house. It was her uncle's; and she began to tremble at the idea of his coming up to speak to her.
It was indeed Sir Thomas who opened the door and asked if he might come in. The terror of his former occasional visits to that room seemed all renewed, and she felt as if he were going to examine her again in French and English.
She was all attention, however, in placing a chair for him, and trying to appear honoured. Stopping short as he entered, he said, with much surprise, "Why have you no fire to-day?"
There was snow on the ground, and she was sitting in a shawl. She hesitated.
"I am not cold, sir: I never sit here long at this time of year."
"But you have a fire in general?"
"No, sir."
"How comes this about? Here must be some mistake. I understood that you had the use of this room by way of making you comfortable. It is highly unfit for you to sit, be it only half an hour a day, without a fire. You are not strong. You are chilly. Your aunt cannot be aware of this."
Fanny would rather have been silent; but being obliged to speak, she could not refrain, in justice to the aunt she loved best, from saying something about "my aunt Norris".
"I understand," cried her uncle, recollecting himself, and not wanting to hear more: "I understand. Your aunt Norris has always advised young people's being brought up without unnecessary indulgences; but there should be moderation in everything. She is also very hardy herself, and so course expects others to be likewise. And on another account, too, I can perfectly comprehend her sentiments. I am aware that there has been sometimes a misplaced distinction between you and your cousins; but I think too well of you, Fanny, to suppose you will ever harbour resentment on that account. You know that your friends were preparing you for that mediocrity of condition which seemed to be your lot. Though their caution may prove eventually unnecessary, it was kindly meant. But enough of this. Sit down, my dear. I must speak to you, but I will not detain you long."
Fanny obeyed, with eyes cast down and colour rising. Sir Thomas, trying to suppress a smile, went on.
"I have had a visitor this morning. Not long after breakfast, Mr. Crawford was shown in. His errand you may probably conjecture."
Fanny's colour grew deeper; and her uncle, perceiving her great embarrassment, turned away his own eyes, and proceeded in his account of Mr. Crawford's visit.
Mr. Crawford's business had been to declare himself the lover of Fanny, make decided proposals for her, and ask the blessing of the uncle, who seemed to stand in the place of her parents; and he had done it all so well, so properly, that Sir Thomas was happy to give the details of their conversation. Unaware of what was passing in his niece's mind, he thought that he must be gratifying her. He talked, therefore, for several minutes without Fanny's daring to interrupt him. With her eyes fixed intently on one of the windows, she listened to her uncle in the utmost perturbation and dismay.
Rising from his chair, he said, "And now, Fanny, having performed one part of my commission, I may execute the remainder by asking you to accompany me downstairs, where you may find a companion still better worth listening to. Mr. Crawford is in my room, and hoping to see you there."
There was a look, a start on hearing this, which astonished Sir Thomas; but his astonishment increased on hearing her exclaim—"Oh! no, sir, indeed I cannot go down to him. Mr. Crawford must know that: he spoke to me on this subject yesterday, and I told him that it was very disagreeable to me, and quite out of my power to return his good opinion."
"I do not catch your meaning," said Sir Thomas, sitting down again. "What is all this? I know he spoke to you yesterday, and (as I understand) received as much encouragement as a well-judging young woman could permit herself to give. I was very much pleased with your behaviour on the occasion; it showed a commendable discretion. But now, when he has made his overtures so properly—what are your scruples now?"
"You are mistaken, sir," cried Fanny, forced by her anxiety even to tell her uncle that he was wrong; "you are quite mistaken. How could Mr. Crawford say such a thing? I gave him no encouragement yesterday. On the contrary, I told him, I cannot recollect my exact words, but I am sure I told him that I would not listen to him, that it was very unpleasant to me in every respect, and that I begged him never to talk to me in that manner again. I should have said more, if I had been quite certain of his meaning anything seriously; but I did not like to be imputing more than might be intended. I thought it might all pass for nothing with him."
She could say no more.
"Am I to understand," said Sir Thomas, after a few moments' silence, "that you mean to refuse Mr. Crawford?"
"Yes, sir."
"Refuse him?"
"Yes, sir."
"Refuse Mr. Crawford! Upon what plea? For what reason?"
"I—I cannot like him, sir, well enough to marry him."
"This is very strange!" said Sir Thomas, in a voice of calm displeasure. "Here is a young man wishing to pay his addresses to you, with everything to recommend him: situation, fortune, and character, with more than common agreeableness, with address and conversation pleasing to everybody. His sister, moreover, is your intimate friend, and he has done that for your brother, which might have been almost sufficient recommendation to you, had there been no other."
"Yes," said Fanny, in a faint voice, and looking down with fresh shame.
"You must have been aware," continued Sir Thomas, "of a particularity in Mr. Crawford's manners to you. This cannot have taken you by surprise. You must have observed his attentions; and though you always received them very properly, I never perceived them to be unpleasant to you. I am half inclined to think, Fanny, that you do not know your own feelings."
"Oh yes, sir! indeed I do. His attentions were always—what I did not like."
Sir Thomas looked at her with deeper surprise. "This is beyond me," said he. "This requires explanation. Young as you are, and having seen scarcely any one, it is hardly possible that your affections—"
He paused and eyed her fixedly. He saw her lips formed into a no, though the sound was inarticulate, but her face was like scarlet. That, however, in so modest a girl, might be very compatible with innocence; and choosing at least to appear satisfied, he quickly added, "No, no, I know that is quite out of the question. Well, there is nothing more to be said."
And for a few minutes he did say nothing. He was deep in thought. His niece was deep in thought likewise, trying to harden and prepare herself against farther questioning. She would rather die than own the truth; and she hoped to fortify herself beyond betraying it.
"Quite apart from Mr. Crawford's choice," said Sir Thomas, beginning again, very composedly, "his wishing to marry so early is commendable. I am an advocate for early marriages, and would have every young man, with a sufficient income, settle as soon after four-and-twenty as he can. I am sorry to think how unlikely my own eldest son, Mr. Bertram, is to marry early; but at present, as far as I can judge, matrimony makes no part of his plans. I wish he were more likely to fix." Here
was a glance at Fanny. "Edmund, I consider as much more likely to marry early than his brother. He, indeed, I have lately thought, has seen the woman he could love, which, I am convinced, my eldest son has not. Am I right? Do you agree with me, my dear?"
"Yes, sir."
It was gently, but it was calmly said, and Sir Thomas was easy on the score of the cousins. But with the removal of his alarm, his displeasure increased; and getting up and walking about with a frown, he said in a voice of authority, "Have you any reason, child, to think ill of Mr. Crawford's temper?"
"No, sir."
She longed to add, "But of his principles I have"; but her heart sunk under the appalling prospect of discussion, explanation, and probably non-conviction. Her ill opinion of him was founded chiefly on observations, which, for her cousins' sake, she could scarcely mention to their father. Maria and Julia, especially Maria, were so closely implicated in Mr. Crawford's misconduct, that she could not speak of it without betraying them. She had hoped that, to a man like her uncle, so discerning, so honourable, so good, the simple acknowledgment of settled dislike on her side would have been sufficient. To her infinite grief she found it was not.
Sir Thomas came towards the table where she sat trembling, and with cold sternness, said, "It is of no use, I perceive, to talk to you. We had better put an end to this mortifying conference. Mr. Crawford must not be kept longer waiting. I will, therefore, only add that you have disappointed every expectation I had formed, and proved your character the very reverse of what I had supposed. For I had, Fanny, formed a very favourable opinion of you since my return to England. I had thought you free from wilfulness of temper, self-conceit, and that modern independence of spirit which is so disgusting in young women. But you have now shown me that you can be wilful and perverse; that you can and will decide for yourself, without any deference to those who have surely some right to guide you, without even asking their advice. You have shown yourself very, very different from anything that I had imagined. Your brothers and sisters seem never to have had a moment's share in your thoughts. How they might be benefited is nothing to you. You think only of yourself, and because you do not feel for Mr. Crawford exactly what a young heated fancy imagines to be necessary for happiness, you resolve to refuse him at once, without wishing even for a little time to consider. You are, in a wild fit of folly, throwing away such an opportunity as will probably never occur to you again. Here is a young man of sense, of character, of manners, and of fortune, exceedingly attached to you, and seeking your hand in the most handsome way; and let me tell you, Fanny, that you may live eighteen years longer without being addressed by a man of half Mr. Crawford's estate, or a tenth part of his merits. Gladly would I have bestowed either of my own daughters on him. Maria is nobly married; but had Mr. Crawford sought Julia's hand, I should have given it to him with more heartfelt satisfaction than I gave Maria's to Mr. Rushworth." After half a moment's pause: "And I should have been very much surprised had either of my daughters, on receiving a proposal of marriage half as eligible as this, peremptorily decided against it without any consultation. I should have been much hurt by such a proceeding. I should have thought it a gross violation of duty and respect. You are not to be judged by the same rule. You do not owe me the duty of a child. But, Fanny, if your heart can acquit you of ingratitude—"
He ceased. Fanny was by this time crying so bitterly that, angry as he was, he would not press farther. Her heart was almost broke by such accusations, so heavy, so multiplied, so dreadful! Self-willed, obstinate, selfish, and ungrateful. He thought her all this. She had lost his good opinion. What was to become of her?
"I am very sorry," said she inarticulately, through her tears, "I am very sorry indeed."
"Sorry! yes, I hope you are sorry; and you will probably have reason to be long sorry for this day's transactions."
"If it were possible for me to do otherwise" said she, with another strong effort; "but I am so perfectly convinced that I could never make him happy, and that I should be miserable myself."
Another burst of tears; but in spite of that burst, Sir Thomas began to think a little relenting might have something to do with it. He knew her to be very timid, and exceedingly nervous; and thought a little pressing and patience on the lover's side might work their effect on her, if the gentleman would but persevere.
These reflections having cheered Sir Thomas, "Well," said he, with gravity, but less anger, "well, child, dry up your tears. They can do no good. You must now come downstairs with me. Mr. Crawford has been kept waiting too long already. You must give him your own answer. I am totally unequal to it."
But Fanny showed such reluctance, such misery, at the idea of going down to him, that Sir Thomas judged it better to indulge her. When he looked at his niece, and saw the state which her crying had brought her into, he thought there might be as much lost as gained by an immediate interview. He walked off by himself, therefore, leaving his poor niece to sit and cry over what had passed, with very wretched feelings.
Her mind was all disorder. Everything was terrible. But her uncle's anger gave her the severest pain of all. Selfish and ungrateful! to have appeared so to him! She had no one to speak for her. Her only friend was absent. Edmund might have softened his father; but perhaps all would think her selfish and ungrateful. She might have to endure the reproach again and again. She could not help feeling some resentment against Mr. Crawford; yet, if he really loved her, and were unhappy too! It was all wretchedness together.
In about a quarter of an hour her uncle returned; she was almost ready to faint at the sight of him. He spoke calmly, however, without reproach, and she revived a little. There was comfort, too, in his words, for he began with, "Mr. Crawford has just left me. I need not repeat what has passed. Suffice it, that he has behaved in the most gentlemanlike manner, and has confirmed me in a most favourable opinion of his heart and temper. Upon hearing what you were suffering, he immediately ceased to urge to see you for the present."
Here Fanny looked down again. "Of course," continued her uncle, "he requested to speak with you alone, if only for five minutes; a request too natural to be denied. But there is no time fixed; perhaps to-morrow, or whenever your spirits are composed enough. For the present you have only to tranquillise yourself. If you wish to please me, you will not give way to these emotions, but try to reason yourself into a stronger frame of mind. I advise you to go out for an hour: the air will do you good; you will have the shrubbery to yourself, and will be the better for exercise. And, Fanny, I shall make no mention below of what has passed; I shall not even tell your aunt Bertram. Say nothing about it yourself."
This was a kindness which Fanny felt at her heart. To be spared from her aunt Norris's interminable reproaches! he left her in a glow of gratitude.
She walked out as her uncle recommended, and followed his advice; did check her tears; did earnestly try to compose her spirits and strengthen her mind. She wished to prove to him that she sought to regain his favour; and he had given her another strong motive for exertion, in keeping the whole affair from the knowledge of her aunts. Not to excite suspicion by her manner was an object worth attaining; and she felt equal to almost anything that might save her from her aunt Norris.
She was struck, when, on returning from her walk and going into the East room, the first thing which caught her eye was a fire burning. A fire! to be giving her such an indulgence at that time was too much. She wondered that Sir Thomas could have leisure to think of such a trifle; but she soon found, from the housemaid, that so it was to be every day. Sir Thomas had given orders for it.
"I must be a brute, indeed, if I can be really ungrateful!" said she. "Heaven defend me from being ungrateful!"
She saw nothing more of her uncle, nor her aunt Norris, till dinner. Her uncle's behaviour to her was then as nearly as possible what it had been before; but her aunt was soon quarrelling with her; and when Fanny found how much and how unpleasantly her having only walked out without her aunt's knowledge could be dwe
lt on, she blessed the kindness which saved her from the same reproaches on a more momentous subject.
"If I had known you were going out, I should have got you to go to my house with some orders," said her aunt, "which I have since, to my very great inconvenience, been obliged to go and carry myself. I could very ill spare the time, and you might have saved me the trouble, if you would only have been so good as to let us know you were going out. It would have made no difference to you, I suppose, whether you had walked in the shrubbery or gone to my house."
"I recommended the shrubbery to Fanny as the driest place," said Sir Thomas.
"Oh!" said Mrs. Norris, with a moment's check, "that was very kind of you, Sir Thomas; but you do not know how dry the path is to my house. Fanny would have had quite as good a walk there, I assure you, with the advantage of being of some use, and obliging her aunt: it is all her fault. If she would only have let us know she was going out—but there is a something about Fanny, I have often observed it before—she likes to go her own way; she does not like to be dictated to; she takes her own independent walk whenever she can; she certainly has a little spirit of secrecy, and nonsense, about her, which I would advise her to get the better of."
Sir Thomas thought nothing could be more unjust to Fanny, though he had been so lately expressing the same sentiments himself, and he tried repeatedly to turn the conversation: but Mrs. Norris had not discernment enough to perceive how well he thought of his niece. She was talking at Fanny, and resenting this private walk through half the dinner.
It was over, however, at last; and the evening brought more composure to Fanny than she could have hoped for. She trusted that she had done right: that her judgment had not misled her. She was sure of the purity of her intentions; and she hoped that her uncle's displeasure was abating, and would abate farther as he considered the matter, and felt, as a good man must feel, how wretched, how unpardonable, how hopeless, and how wicked it was to marry without affection.
When the threatened meeting with Mr Crawford was past, the subject would be finally concluded, and once Mr. Crawford was gone from Mansfield, everything would soon be as if no such subject had existed. She could not believe that Mr. Crawford's affection for her could distress him long. London would soon bring its cure. In London he would learn to wonder at his infatuation.
While Fanny's mind was engaged in these hopes, her uncle was called out of the room; she thought nothing of it till the butler reappeared, and advancing towards her, said, "Sir Thomas wishes to speak with you, ma'am, in his own room." Then a suspicion rushed over her mind which drove the colour from her cheeks.
Instantly rising, she was preparing to obey, when Mrs. Norris called out, "Stay, Fanny! where are you going? don't be in such a hurry. Depend upon it, it is not you who are wanted, but me. You are very eager to put yourself forward. What should Sir Thomas want you for? You mean me, Baddeley, I am sure; not Miss Price."
But Baddeley was stout. "No, ma'am, I am certain of its being Miss Price." And there was a half-smile with the words, which meant, "I do not think you would answer the purpose at all."
Mrs. Norris was much discontented; and Fanny, walking off in agitation, found herself in another minute alone with Mr. Crawford.
CHAPTER 33