‘I never loved him, and I never wanted him to love me,’ she said. ‘Indeed, I do not believe he did. I saw his behavior towards Maria last year, and I suspected there was stil an attachment between them. That is why I could not marry him. That, and—’
She stopped, and I did not press her. I knew her heart was too ful to speak.
‘But is this true, Fanny? Is this real y true?’ I asked her. ‘Has he not hurt you?’
‘No.’
‘Then it takes a great weight from my mind,’ I said in relief, feeling that here, at last, was something to smile about, some cheer to brighten the gloom. ‘You saw more than I did, Fanny. I was blinded in more than one way at the time. It is a funny thing, I used to be the teacher and you my pupil, but it seems that our roles have been reversed.’
She gave me a look of understanding, and I thought: Fanny has grown up. My mother rousing herself at that moment, for she had been asleep in front of the fire, our conversation came to an end.
Monday 22 May
Fanny and I went riding this morning. We rode in silence to begin with, for I was thinking about Mary and how I had taught her to ride. I remembered her enjoyment, and her saying that she was growing to love the country. But although my feelings were, to begin with, wistful, they began to change as I watched Fanny, who was riding beside me. Her face showed pleasure in the exercise and her enjoyment in the countryside. Hers was not the bright-eyed pleasure of novelty, it was the deep-seated pleasure of long acquaintance and genuine love. Her eyes sought out the new buds springing to life and the changes taking place around her. She would ride thus in ten years, twenty years, time, as I would, never growing restless or dissatisfied, because she belonged at Mansfield Park. I was reminded of my ride with Tom when we were boys, and the way his eyes had always looked beyond Mansfield. Mary’s eyes had looked beyond Mansfield, too. But Fanny’s never did. At Mansfield, she was at home.
‘I am beginning to think it is a good thing we are alone again,’ I said. ‘I missed going for rides with you, Fanny, when Mary was here.’ She looked at me anxiously, and I said, ‘There is no need to worry. I can speak her name without pain. I was hurt, it is true, but the countryside, and friends, can heal anything in time. If I am not deceived, the sable cloud has turned forth her silver lining on the night.’
She smiled.
‘Milton would forgive you your deviation, glad that you have seen the truth of his words, as your friends must be,’ she said.
We passed Robert Pinker and bade him good morning. We had just passed him when he cal ed out, ‘Mr. Bertram!’
We reined in our horses and he approached.
‘I wonder if I could cal on you this afternoon, at Thornton Lacey?’ he said.
‘By al means. Was there something particular you wished to see me about?’
He went red and stammered that Miss Colton had been good enough to accept his offer of marriage.
‘This is splendid news,’ I said, and Fanny added her heartfelt good wishes.
‘We would like to be married at the end of June,’ he said. ‘I have a house, there is nothing to wait for.’
‘Then cal on me at three o’clock and we wil discuss it.’
He thanked me and we set off.
‘That wil be a happy marriage,’ I said.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Fanny. ‘I have been hoping for it for some time.’
‘You knew it was likely to take place?’
‘I visited Mrs. Colton when her mother was il , and Mr. Pinker was there. Miss Colton looked at the floor and blushed a great deal.’
‘It is a puzzlement to me how women can behave so differently when they are in love. Mary was bold and confident — though perhaps she was not in love.’
‘I think she was, as much as she was capable of being,’ said Fanny.
‘Yes. Her nature perhaps admitted of no more. But Miss Colton was not bold, she blushed and looked at the floor. And yet when you did the same it meant quite the opposite, that you did not want Mr. Crawford’s attentions. I wil never understand the fairer sex.’
‘Perhaps you wil , in time,’ said Fanny, looking at me.
‘Perhaps.’
We turned for home.
‘I have had a letter from Julia,’ said my father, when we joined him and Mama in the drawingroom. ‘She has begged my forgiveness and she now asks for the indulgence of my notice. I would like your advice, Edmund; and yours, too, Fanny. You have seen more clearly in this business than any of us.’
‘It seems to me to be a good sign,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Fanny. ‘If they wish to be forgiven, then I think you should notice them.’
She colored slightly for speaking so boldly but my father thanked her for her opinion.
‘What do you think, Lady Bertram?’ he asked.
‘I would like to see Julia again,’ she said wistful y, ‘and so would Pug.’
‘Then I wil write and invite them to Mansfield Park. Perhaps something might be salvaged from the disasters that have befal en us over the last few weeks after al .’
‘Mr. Yates was frivolous but he was constant,’ said Fanny. ‘I believe he liked Julia from the first.’
‘Wel , we shal see,’ said my father.
After luncheon, Fanny and I set out for Thornton Lacey, I to see Robert Pinker and Fanny to cal on Mrs. Green, who has a new baby.
‘So that is the meaning of the dress you have been sewing,’ I said.
‘A new mother can never have too much linen,’ she replied.
We reached Thornton Lacey in good time and together we looked over the house.
‘Moving the farmyard has changed it completely,’ she said.
‘Yes, has it not?’
‘The approach is now one any gentleman might admire, and the prospect is much improved.’
‘And what do you think of the chimneypiece?’
‘I think it is excel ent,’ she said, running her hand across it. ‘It adds a great deal of beauty to the room. This is a good house, Edmund, and may be made more beautiful stil if you wish.’
‘I am committed to improving it as much as I might.’
We went upstairs and she gave me the benefit of her advice on the cupboards before she left to see Mrs. Green. I soon received Robert Pinker, who told me of Miss Colton’s many virtues. I wished him happy and we arranged for the banns to be read. He left me in good spirits, and Fanny returned soon after, smiling brightly.
‘Mrs. Green was wel ?’
‘She was, and the baby was thriving.’
The world seemed a better place as we rode home together. Julia repentant, Tom improving, and Fanny growing in beauty and confidence daily.
I only hope it may continue.
Tuesday 30 May
Julia and Yates arrived this morning. There was some little awkwardness, but Julia was so humble and so wishing to be forgiven, and Yates was so much better than we had thought him, for he was truly desirous of being received into the family, that soon things became quite comfortable. My mother was delighted to have Julia restored to her, and the day ended more pleasantly than anyone could have rightful y expected.
JUNE
Thursday 1 June
‘This marriage of Julia’s is not so bad as I first feared,’ said my father to me this morning. ‘Yates is not very solid, but from a number of conversations I have had with him, I think there is every hope of him becoming less trifling as he grows older. His estate is more, and his debts less than I feared.’
Saturday 10 June
Our good news continues. Tom is now out of danger, and this morning he was able to take a short walk out of doors. The weather was fine, and the exercise did him good. I believe we wil have him wel again by the end of the summer, and none the worse for his fal . Thursday 15 June
At last Maria and Crawford have been discovered. Maria refuses to leave Crawford, saying she is sure they wil be married in time. Rushworth is determined to divorce her. It is a scandal, but we must endure it, f
or there is nothing else to be done.
Thursday 29 June
Fanny and I have grown into the habit of wandering outside in the evening, enjoying the balmy air, and sitting under trees talking of books and poetry. It is like the old days, before the Crawfords came to Mansfield Park, and yet with this change, that Fanny is no longer my protégée, she is my equal. She argues with me over the authors’ and poets’ intentions, and her arguments are wel reasoned and compel ing. She makes me rethink my position, and in so doing gives me a deeper understanding of the books and poems I so love. And when we have talked our fil , we watch the sun sinking over the meadows, and take as much pleasure from the sight of it as those in London society take in a necklace of rubies.
JULY
Wednesday 12 July
Maria and Crawford’s situation grows daily worse. They are now so disenchanted with each other that they fairly hate each other and a voluntary separation looks set to take place any day. My aunt wishes my father to receive her here, but he wil not hear of it.
‘This is al your doing,’ said my aunt to Fanny, as I entered the drawing-room this afternoon. ‘If you had married Mr. Crawford when he asked you, then none of this would have happened.’
I rescued Fanny from my aunt’s spite by suggesting a walk in the garden, where we continued our discussion of Thomson, and from thence, sparked by our joy of the soft summer air, Fanny progressed to Cowper, saying:
God made the country, and manmade the town.
‘You were not happy in Portsmouth?’ I said.
‘No. It grieves me to say it, but I was not. I missed Mansfield, not just the countryside, but the people. I had thought, before I went, that I would feel at home there, with my family, but their ways are so different to ours — in truth, I was often horrified. My father . . .’
‘You may say anything to me, Fanny. If you want to ease your heart, I am at your disposal.’
‘It seems wrong to speak disrespectful y of my parents.’
‘There is no disrespect in turning to a friend for comfort and guidance,’ I said.
‘You do me good, Edmund. You always do me good.’
‘Except . . .’ I thought of the time I had tried to persuade her to marry Henry Crawford. I had been blinded by my own concerns. I had not been a friend to her there. But I put such thoughts aside and continued, ‘Your family were not what you were expecting them to be?’
‘No. My father cursed a great deal, and my mother seemed content to proceed without any order. I confess, I learnt the lesson that I believe Sir Thomas had been endeavoring to teach me, that wealth and position bring with them many advantages, and that poverty brings with it many hardships that cannot be overlooked.’
‘And yet you did not succumb to the lure of riches that was being held out to you.’
‘No. I would rather live in an attic at Mansfield Park than in a manor house where I did not love.’
‘I too. One evening spent walking by the river with you, talking of things that matter, is of far more value to me than a year in London, talking of nothing and attending the most glittering parties.’
The light began to fade and we went indoors, to continue our conversation in the library, away from Aunt Norris.
Wednesday 19 July
Tom went out riding for the first time since his fal , and though he was wary to begin with he soon regained his confidence and came home looking as wel as he did before his il ness. Thursday 27 July
Our evening walks have become a settled thing, and not a day goes by without Fanny and I strol ing through the grounds. As we walked by the river this evening I stopped to survey the water, whose surface was sparkling in the sunlight. I thought that it was like Mary, dazzling on the surface, but with mud beneath. Further on, there was no sparkle, but the water was clear and deep, and I thought of Fanny, whose goodness ran down to the depths of her being. I turned to face her and thought how lucky I was to have her, for she had safeguarded my faith in women when Mary would have shattered it.
As long as I have Fanny, I wil always know that goodness exists, because I wil have it right in front of me.
AUGUST
Tuesday 1 August
My father is so pleased with Julia and Yates, who improve daily, that he has decided to acknowledge them with a bal in their honor. The invitations have gone out and my father’s recognition of their marriage wil ensure they are accepted in society. Wednesday 2 August
I asked Tom if he wanted to go into town with me this morning but he said he was too busy seeing to the improvements on the home farm. He has changed since his il ness. He has recovered his health and spirits but he has had a shock, and says he does not want to spend al his life racing and drinking.
‘And that is what it almost was, Edmund. Al my life,’ he said to me. Instead, he has started to take an interest in his inheritance, as wel as an interest in pleasure. I left him set ing out to look over the home farm and went into town alone, where I ordered a string of pearls for Fanny.
Thursday 3 August
I asked Fanny if I might secure her as my partner for the first two dances of Julia’s bal and she agreed. As I did so, I remembered the bal at which I danced the first two dances with Mary, but it seemed almost as though it had happened to another person and not to me. To my surprise, it no longer hurts me, or angers me, or even interests me to think of Mary. She seems of no consequence at al .
Thursday 10 August
As soon as I had dressed for the bal I took the pearls to Fanny’s sitting-room, where I found her. She was watering her geraniums. She was already dressed for the bal and I felt as though I was seeing her, for the first time, as a desirable young woman. Her dress was new and its whiteness set off the soft gold of her arms and face. Her hair was piled on top of her head, showing the gracefulness of her neck, and I could not understand why it had taken me so long to see the truth: I was in love with Fanny. It was Fanny who shared my thoughts and feelings; Fanny who was like me; Fanny who was part of me.
She turned round and saw me.
‘I have brought you something,’ I said. I noticed she was wearing my gold chain round her neck, and Wil iam’s amber cross. ‘Would you wear these for me tonight instead?’
She smiled her acquiescence and, unfastening her chain, she turned round so that I could put the pearls round her neck. As she bent forward I was suddenly nervous. I fastened the necklace, tel ing myself that I had performed the same office for her many times before, but this time was different, for as I closed the clasp I felt my hand tremble. She straightened her head and looked at the pearls in the mirror, thanking me for them with her sweetest smile, then I gave her my arm and led her downstairs. Al through dinner, I had eyes only for Fanny, and even when the guests began to arrive I could not take my eyes away. She greeted them al with a mixture of sweetness and intel igence, no longer tongue-tied in company, but setting everyone at their ease by talking to them of their own concerns and replying with the same ease to their questions about her own. As I watched her, I found myself wondering how it had happened, how long she had been like this. Had she suddenly blossomed? Or had I simply not noticed the moment at which she had turned from a hesitant girl into an assured woman.
The musicians began to play, and Julia and Yates took their places, ready to open the dancing. I saw my father watching them approvingly, whilst Mama looked on and smiled. I claimed Fanny’s hand with pleasure and led her on to the floor. I could not take my eyes from her.
‘You are quiet tonight,’ she said to me, as the steps of the dance brought us together. I roused myself.
‘I am not doing my duty. I am a poor partner.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘You are the perfect partner.’
And as she smiled, I knew. Fanny loved me! I returned her smile, and there were no two happier people in the room.
The first two dances came to an end, but I could not go to Fanny as I wanted, for I was committed to dancing with Julia. I could not pay attention to my sister, however, for I c
ould not take my eyes from Fanny.
Julia fol owed my longing gaze and gave an arch smile.
‘Fanny is looking wel tonight,’ she said.
‘Yes, she is,’ I said, for the candlelight was behind her, giving her a radiance that made her shine.
‘It was an evil day for us when Crawford ran off with Maria, but it was a good day for Fanny. It wil not be long before she attracts another offer of marriage, and one from a man of far more worth.’
‘I hope so,’ was al I could manage.
After Julia, I was engaged to dance with several other young ladies, but just before supper I was free to reclaim Fanny.
‘You are tired,’ I said.
‘Too tired for dancing, but not otherwise fatigued,’ she returned.
‘Then wil you take a walk with me along the terrace?’ She agreed readily, and we went outside.
‘Fanny . . .’
‘Yes, Edmund?’
‘Fanny, I have been a fool,’ I said rueful y. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’
‘There is nothing to forgive.’
‘Then wil you do me the honor, the very great honor of accepting my hand in marriage?’
Her smile lit the night.
‘Yes, Edmund, I wil .’
‘How long have you loved me?’ I could not resist asking her, as we walked on together.
‘I hardly know, but certainly before the Crawfords moved into the neighborhood,’ she said.
‘So long ago? I knew you worshipped me as a child, but I never, until this evening, knew that your feelings had turned to love.’
‘I did not notice the change myself, it was so gradual. But when the Crawfords came to Mansfield Park I came to know myself, for I envied Mary Crawford your attentions. I am ashamed to say it, but it was so. I could not bear to see you throw al your love away on someone who was not worthy of you. I tried to tel myself that, if she had been everything that was wise and good, I would not have minded, that I would have been happy for you, but I knew it was not so. I would have envied anyone who had your love.’
Edmund Bertram's Diary Page 21