They let the horses graze on long ropes Henry had brought in his saddlebag, and he sat down and invited her to sit beside him. She sat down next to him, not too far and not too close, and he produced a wrapped package from his
coat-pocket. It contained two slices of chocolate cake, and he handed her one, then started on the other. It was a real treat, rich, but not too large, and she realized this was exactly what she required right now, small amounts of rich food spread over the day. She finished it in a moment, and looked at him with pure gratitude.
It seemed as if he knew her better than she knew herself, challenging her to go just one step beyond what felt safe for her, giving her an example of fearlessness, predicting her needs. So much attention just for her, she felt flattered and, she had to admit it, loved.
Confusion coloured her face, and he saw it, but he did not make the most of it, as he would have done a few months before. He ignored it, giving her a chance to do with it whatever pleased her, and asked: 'Shall we go back, before our muscles get cold and stiff? I've not ridden for a few weeks either, I'll be feeling it tomorrow as well. We'll have to build up the length of our rides slowly, allow the muscles to keep up. Which I hope will make you hungry, building muscle.'
The way back was also exciting, for even her placid mare smelled the stable and having galloped once, wanted to do so again. But Fanny refused to get scared, but rather checked her, feeling on top of the world at her own bravery.
With the last hill before them, she suggested: 'Shall we race over that hill? I want to feel that speed once more today, and conquer the fear.' Henry didn't even answer, but allowed his spirited mare to increase her speed slowly, enabling Fanny to follow easily. She did not have to urge her lazy horse either, they were now so close to the stables that the horses wanted to fly there.
It was as exciting as the first time, she was less frightened so she could enjoy it even more. They flew over the hill, and down the slope towards the house, only slowing when they neared the cobbled driveway.
As they reached the stables, the old stable-hand took her horse from her to walk it dry, and he said approvingly: 'I saw you racing down the hill, miss, very brave of you.' She smiled and said: 'Thank you John,' and then they walked to the house together. 'And thank you, Henry, for showing me how to push my boundaries.'
He replied gallantly: 'The pleasure was all mine. You already have some colour on your cheeks, are you tired?' 'Not at all, I'm elated, and I want one of those little snacks again.'
They did both suffer from stiff muscles the next day, but over the course of two weeks their rides got longer and longer and faster and faster. She got to see most of the environment around Mansfield Park, and had a difficult moment when Henry pointed out a picturesque village to her: Thornton Lacey.
Henry showed no restlessness at being totally without society, they rode together, sat together, walked together and read together in the evenings, both Fanny and Lady Bertram really enjoying Henry's capital reading.
Fanny's condition improved quickly, she gained weight, and her bloom returned with exposure to fresh air and regular exercise. She still suffered from melancholy spells, and moments of great sorrow, and whenever she couldn't stand the grief anymore, Henry offered to hold her and she allowed him to, in the privacy of her own room.
She would rest her head on his chest and cry herself out, knowing the worst had passed when she started to become aware of his chest muscles beneath his shirt, and of his scent, which she could still only make out when she was this close to him.
The smell always reminded her of that one moment in the carriage, when he had inadvertently kissed her throat with passion, and that memory generally caused her to blush. Still, she often held on to him past the point where her grief had become manageable again, hoping the memory would return, secretly wishing he would kiss her again, let her feel his passion again.
It was a weird time for her, her life was as tranquil as it had been before she left for Portsmouth, but so much had changed. She was becoming a really good horse-woman, and she knew the neighborhood intimately, whilst she had never stepped out of the park before. Her aunts never imposed on her anymore, and aunt Norris merely tried to freeze her with her looks, but somehow Fanny didn't care about it anyway.
Henry seemed perfectly content to spend his days on her side, but she still wondered whether he didn't miss his exciting life in the city, or whether he was neglecting his duties on Everingham. She decided to ask him at the first opportunity, and when they next walked out, she gathered courage to pose the question. But before she could ask him, he asked her to sit down with him for a moment, and he seemed disturbed by something.
Anxiousness instantly seized her, he had bad news, and was trying to break it to her. Seeing her reaction, he took her hand and said soothingly: 'Nothing bad has happened, it is just that Mary has replied to my letter, and she tells
me they are planning to visit next week. She also congratulates me on our engagement, and wishes you to write to her. I have not told her the truth about our engagement, but she clearly expects us to join society soon, and I don't know what to say. Shall we wait what happens when you see them together, before we decide anything?'
Fanny hesitated, she wanted to confess something, but she knew Henry was very fond of his sister, so she really didn't dare tell.
Of course he saw immediately, laughed at her, and said: 'You want to tell me you never really liked Mary, her spirits oppressed you, she assumed you were in love with me, she left you to my tender mercies.' How could he have known, did he look into her head? Even Edmund had never suspected her dislike of Miss Crawford.
'Dear Fanny, what could have been more natural than your not liking her?
She got all the attention you wanted, and which you deserved, I must add.
She did indeed leave you to my tender mercies, for I must admit my designs on you were not honorable from the start. I have believed for some time that falling in love with you, as unreachable as your heart turned out to be, was my punishment for playing with women's feelings all my life, without remorse, I may add.
My sister had the same general habits you disliked so intensely in me, so how could you have liked her? But you see I have changed a lot, to suit your temperament, and you have changed some, though you may not have noticed.
You are not nearly as timid as you were, and you can see a challenge in something you fear. And you don't find my spirits oppressive anymore, do you?'
This last with a cheeky smile.
Having to admit he was right, she said: 'No, I don't. Your spirits have gotten me through a very difficult period, without them I would have become very ill, I might even have died from grief. I've learned to appreciate them, though you have toned them down a bit.'
The cheeky smile changed to a reflective one and he observed: 'I have, haven't I? You have had more influence on me than I have had on you, for I have always known your morals to be superior to mine. The same goes for Mary, she loves Edmund, has loved him for some time. She will adjust her liveliness to his temperament, and he will gain a little spirit from her, do you see? She is good enough for him, Fanny, please believe me. She will make
him happy.'
Here he seemed to want to add another sentence, but he didn't. Instead he said: 'But that brings us to the main reason why you should not like Mary: she was your rival from the moment Tom left Mansfield Park the first time. How could you have liked someone who was the total opposite to you in temper, and who received the attentions of the man you wanted for yourself?
I don't know if you'll ever be able to like her, but you cannot ignore her, she has no idea of your disapproval, as I didn't. I think you need to tell her the truth, or keep writing to her as you have done so far, out of propriety.
Myself, I would prefer the first, for with your new assertiveness she might find out and feel hurt.' He was right of course, Fanny could see that, and she told him she would try to live through the visit first, and decide what to do
later. And that was enough for Henry for now.
After this conversation, Fanny asked him about his duties at Everingham, and he told her he did need to go there soon, and he pleaded her to come with him for a visit of maybe five days. He had long wanted to show her his estate and the country around it, and he had already gotten permission from her uncle to take her there. Still convinced that his niece would not be insensible to the creditability of Henry Crawford's estate, especially if the man showed her around himself, and convinced of her discretion, he was prepared to take the risk of letting them travel together. So it was settled that they would leave tomorrow, and return in time for Edmund and Miss Crawford's visit.
Chapter 9
And what did the rest of the family think of their returned niece? Aunt Norris was disgusted of course, she almost hated Fanny now, engaged to the man who should have been Julia's, and no longer invisible nor suitably humble.
But her lively and sarcastic intended was always near her, and very protective of the pale, sickly creature, so she didn't dare treat her as meanly as she used to, afraid of his quick mind and his lack of respect for her person.
Lady Bertram felt the loss of her companion, who was now mostly out riding with Mr Crawford, or sitting in the garden with him, being attended to with great care by that admiring gentleman. But as she had done without her for a whole month, her habits had adapted to the new situation before it had occurred, and she did enjoy the evenings, when Mr Crawford brought a little liveliness to their group, with his engaging manners and his superb reading.
Of course the satisfaction of her niece capturing the heart of such a well-bred man with a nice fortune was still very much felt.
And Sir Thomas had no reason to regret the freedom and trust he had bestowed upon his niece and her admirer. He could see her influence over him, he seemed to enjoy the quiet evenings spent reading and conversing about serious subjects. And he could see his influence over her, she was much less timid and dared things that would have frightened her out of her wits before she got to know him, like racing a horse over the hills, and talking back to her aunt Norris.
There was something fishy about their engagement, though, they seemed perfectly happy just to be in each other's company without ever touching more than each other's hand. The gentleman seemed to have no more trouble controlling his urges than his niece, though of course if he still needed to win her love, touching her would spoil his chances. But it certainly made giving his permission to travel together much easier, for they both behaved flawlessly, and no scandal could arise from their companionship.
The next morning they rose early, and they were off by half past eight. It was
to be a much shorter trip than from Portsmouth, for Everingham was less than a day's journey removed from Northhamptonshire, and they were to arrive in the late afternoon, with some time left to explore the park before dinner.
Strangely enough it felt good to Fanny to be on the road again. Though her feelings had been greatly disturbed last time she was in this carriage, the last few weeks had stimulated her appetite for new experiences, she really wanted to see the world, and maybe she didn't mind being away from memory-infused Mansfield Park either.
Henry could see clearly that her spirits improved once she was on the road, and he had a surprise for her at Everingham that, though valuable, he thought would be nonetheless very acceptable to his modest companion. He was not sorry to have business to attend to, he had enjoyed his stay at Mansfield Park remarkably well, but a change of scene was very welcome to him.
It was especially thrilling to be travelling with Fanny alone, she was very observant, and looked about her with the keen enthousiasm of someone who hadn't much experience on the road. Though he himself had been out and about very regularly from the time of his coming of age, he still enjoyed exploring the country, and he never got bored even on very long trips. Having a companion who was so sensitive to beauty, either in nature or in man-made objects, was an especial privilege, for though he really enjoyed Mary's company, she was not in the least bit interested in a fair grove or a beautiful outlook over a village, and finally being able to talk to someone about what he saw was a keen pleasure he had rarely had before.
Fanny always had a quote at hand to describe the scene or to transmit the feeling it gave her. Her delight in his similarity of interests was also clear, and she seemed to have forgotten her grief for some time whilst enjoying their trip to the fullest.
When they rested the horses at an inn, Henry took care to order the finest local specialties, and Fanny was positively merry, sitting in the sun, drinking in the sight of the delightful village and eating heartily. A deep satisfaction settled inside Henry's spirit, and he felt that everything might still turn out for the best.
All too soon he saw the familiar surroundings of his estate, and he pointed out some places they would be able to visit in the coming days. Of course Fanny thought they would be using the carriage, but Henry knew a very welcome surprise would be waiting for Fanny at his house, hand-picked by
his coachman, and certain to prove a valuable companion to Fanny in the coming days. He had decided to keep his gift a surprise, a bit apprehensive she might be overcome rather than pleased, but he was willing to take that slight risk, he felt they knew each other well enough now for him to take a little liberty with her sense of propriety.
Remembering the time that improvements had been discussed among the cousins and the Crawfords, she looked at his grounds with extra interest, and she saw much to admire. All that had been added to nature, had been done in great subtlety, and the natural quality of the place was intact without losing the comfort of sturdy fences and excellent roads.
The farms on his land were in prime shape, no signs of neglect anywhere, and the people they met seemed happy and healthy. Fanny was really looking forward now to a few days of relief from the constant memory of Edmund, and she was determined to enjoy them to the fullest, before she would face reality again when he visited next week.
And in this spirit they arrived at the house, a stately building, but not oppressively so. The gardens were mainly natural, no formal front garden with trimmed hedges and rose-bushes, and she supposed that was due to the age and the inclinations of the owner, as well as his rare residence on his estate.
The carriage came to a halt and Henry helped Fanny to descend the few steps.
His staff greeted him and set to work unloading the luggage, and Henry introduced Fanny to all of them as his fiancée, Miss Price. She was greeted politely, and she returned the compliments, making an excellent first impression with her slightly shy but very lady-like manners.
And Henry turned towards her with a big grin and asked whether she was tired and wanted a little rest first, or a short walk around the house with a surprise at the end. Fanny had never had a surprise, and his excited demeanor showed he wanted her to see it very much.
And since she was elated rather than tired, she said: 'I'd love to see the garden, and your surprise, Henry.' He was thrilled, and impulsively took her hand, not even realizing the liberty he was taking, and Fanny found she rather enjoyed his high spirits after what he had done for her, and after having seen him in an unguarded moment several times, convinced he was having a hard time as much as she was, facing an unrequited love, and having her in his arms crying for another man.
The back of the house was also naturally landscaped, in excellent taste, much more modern than Mansfield Park, with a nice view over a long grass-grown vale, strewn with sheep and solitary trees, up to a long-sloped hill in the background. Fanny just had to smile and say: 'I bet you always gallop over that hill yonder, it just asks for it.'
Well, she certainly had said the right thing, for now Henry looked at her with a very happy, intent look, and she could see he wanted to kiss her. He didn't, but he had to visibly control himself not to, and in a way she wished he would have. Passion checked, he replied in a gay voice: 'You are so right, it is the best place ever to have a good ga
llop.'
And then they rounded the corner, and she saw the stables. This was clearly the home of someone who valued horses, for there were beautiful paddocks and rows of stables, most of them empty. 'The mares and foals are all out in the pastures, only the carriage horses, my hunters and the stallions are still here,' Henry explained. 'I'll show everything in detail tomorrow or the day after, first my surprise. Will you close your eyes and let me lead you to it?' he asked.
Fanny obediently closed her eyes tightly, and she let herself be led over a bit of grass, then a graveled path, then a cobbled yard. The smell of horses suggested they were in the middle of the stable area, and the noises around them confirmed this.
'You can open them now,' said his voice with barely contained excitement.
She opened her eyes and saw a beautiful grey horse, with a full mane and tail, and very friendly eyes, held on a halter by a rather young, sturdily built man.
'He's yours, Fanny, so we can continue our rides here, and see all the beauties of my lands from horseback.' She detected a slight note of uncertainty in Henry's voice, he was probably afraid she'd not be pleased with such a valuable gift, but the prospect of galloping over that hill just thrilled her, and she slowly and carefully moved towards him to give him time to prepare, and then embraced him as tightly as she had that one time in the carriage.
Did she hope just a tiny bit that he would lose control again? She didn't think so, for there were people all over the yard, but she did want him to know she was very happy with his gift. 'Thank you so much, Henry, what an incredible idea to be able to ride, and such a beautiful creature.' She stroked the animal over the neck, and let it sniff her hand, and the mild dark eyes observed her whilst the soft nose touched her hand and whuffed. He was sweet indeed. She did experience some doubt now: 'I am not very brave, you know, I don't
know if I dare to gallop up that hill straight away.'
Now the man holding the halter spoke up, and he respectfully, but decidedly said: 'He's the sweetest natured horse I've ever seen, Miss, I'm certain you'll love him.' He had to be the coach-man, being so self-assured, but he was young for the job. Fanny said: 'Did you choose him, mr..'?' 'Albert, Miss, Albert Boon, Miss, sorry Miss.' 'Did you choose him, Mr Boon?' The man said: 'Yes, Miss, rode him and checked his soundness, and had me own misses try him out on the ladies' saddle to be sure. He's a treasure.'
Mansfield Park the Crawfords' Redemption Page 6