Jane Austen's Mansfield Park: Abridged

by Emma Laybourn

Sir Thomas's return made a striking change in the ways of the family. Mansfield was an altered place; the spirits of many were saddened. There was little intercourse with the Parsonage, for Sir Thomas was disinclined for any engagements but in one quarter: the Rushworths.

  Edmund did not wonder at his father's feelings, nor could he regret anything but the exclusion of the Grants.

  "But they," he observed to Fanny, "have a claim. They seem to belong to us. I am afraid they may feel themselves neglected. If my father knew them better, he would value their society. My sisters seem out of spirits, and Tom is not at his ease. Dr. and Mrs. Grant would enliven us, and make our evenings pass with more enjoyment to my father."

  "Do you think so?" said Fanny: "in my opinion, my uncle would not like any addition. I think he values the quietness you speak of. And we are no more serious than we used to be before my uncle went abroad; I cannot recollect that our evenings formerly were ever merry, except when my uncle was away."

  "I believe you are right, Fanny," was his reply. "I believe our evenings are rather returned to what they were. The novelty was in their being lively. Yet, how strong the impression that a few weeks will give! I feel as if we had never lived so before."

  "I suppose I am graver than other people," said Fanny. "The evenings do not appear long to me. I love to hear my uncle talk of the West Indies. I could listen to him for an hour together. I am unlike other people, I dare say."

  "Why should you dare say that?" (smiling). "Do you want to be told that you are only unlike other people in being more wise? But when did you ever get a compliment from me, Fanny? Go to my father if you want to be complimented. From him you will hear compliments enough: and though they may be chiefly on your person, you must put up with it, and trust to his seeing as much beauty of mind in time."

  Such language was so new to Fanny that it quite embarrassed her.

  "Your uncle thinks you very pretty, dear Fanny. Your complexion is so improved!—and you have gained so much countenance!—and your figure—nay, Fanny, do not turn away. If you cannot bear an uncle's admiration, what is to become of you? You must really begin to harden yourself to the idea of being worth looking at. You must try not to mind growing up into a pretty woman."

  "Oh! don't talk so," cried Fanny, distressed by more feelings than he was aware of; but seeing her distress, he stopped, and only added—

  "I wish you would talk to your uncle more. You are too silent in the evening circle."

  "But I do talk to him more than I used. Did not you hear me ask him about the slave-trade last night?"

  "I did—and was in hopes the question would be followed up by others. It would have pleased your uncle."

  "I longed to do it—but there was such a dead silence! And while my cousins were sitting by without speaking a word, I did not like—I thought it would appear as if I wanted to set myself off at their expense, by showing a pleasure in his information which he must wish his daughters to feel."

  "Miss Crawford was very right in what she said the other day: that you seemed almost as fearful of notice as other women were of neglect. We were talking of you at the Parsonage. She has great discernment. For so young a woman it is remarkable! She certainly understands you better than you are understood by many here. I wonder what she thinks of my father! She must admire him as a fine-looking man, with gentlemanlike manners; but perhaps his reserve may be a little repulsive. Could they be much together, I feel sure of their liking each other. He would enjoy her liveliness. I wish they met more frequently! I hope she does not suppose there is any dislike on his side."

  "She must know herself secure in the regard of the rest of you," said Fanny, with half a sigh. "And Sir Thomas's wishing at first to be only with his family will seem natural to her. After a little while, I dare say, we shall be meeting again."

  "This is the first October that she has ever passed in the country. Mrs. Grant is very anxious for her not finding Mansfield dull as winter comes on."

  Fanny could have said a great deal to that, but it was safer to say nothing about Miss Crawford's resources—her accomplishments, her importance, her friends, lest it should betray her into any observations that seemed unhandsome. Miss Crawford's kind opinion of herself deserved gratitude, and she began to talk of something else.

  "To-morrow, my uncle dines at Sotherton. I hope he may continue to like Mr. Rushworth."

  "That is impossible, Fanny. He must like him less after to-morrow's visit, for we shall be five hours in his company. He cannot much longer deceive himself. I wish that Rushworth and Maria had never met."

  In this quarter, indeed, disappointment was impending for Sir Thomas. Not all his good-will for Mr. Rushworth could prevent him from soon discerning that he was an inferior young man, as ignorant in business as in books, without seeming aware of it.

  He had expected a very different son-in-law; and beginning to feel grave on Maria's account, tried to understand her feelings. He observed that she was indifferent at best: her behaviour to Mr. Rushworth was careless and cold. She could not, did not like him. Sir Thomas resolved to speak seriously to her. Advantageous as would be the alliance, her happiness must not be sacrificed to it. Mr. Rushworth had, perhaps, been accepted on too short an acquaintance, and, on knowing him better, she was repenting.

  With solemn kindness Sir Thomas addressed her: inquired into her wishes, entreated her to be open and sincere, and assured her that the connexion could be entirely given up, if she felt unhappy. He would act for her and release her.

  Maria had a moment's struggle as she listened, and only a moment's: when her father ceased, she was able to give her answer decidedly. She thanked him for his kindness, but he was quite mistaken in supposing she had the smallest desire of breaking her engagement. She had the highest esteem for Mr. Rushworth's character, and could not doubt her happiness with him.

  Sir Thomas was satisfied; too glad to be satisfied, perhaps, to urge the matter further. It was an alliance which he could not have relinquished without pain; and Mr. Rushworth was young enough to improve. If Maria could speak so securely of her happiness with him, without the blindness of love, she ought to be believed. He did not suppose her feelings to be acute; but if she could dispense with seeing her husband as a shining character, there would certainly be everything else in her favour. A young woman who did not marry for love, was in general but the more attached to her own family.

  Such were the reasonings of Sir Thomas, happy to escape the embarrassment that must attend a rupture; happy to secure a respectable connexion, and very happy to think anything of his daughter that was most favourable for the purpose.

  As for Maria, she was glad that she had secured her fate beyond recall: that she had pledged herself anew to Sotherton. She retired in proud resolve, determined only to behave more cautiously to Mr. Rushworth in future, that her father might not be again suspecting her.

  Had Sir Thomas applied to his daughter within three or four days after Henry Crawford's leaving Mansfield, before she had given up every hope, her answer might have been different; but when there was no letter, no message, her mind became cool enough to seek all the comfort that pride and self revenge could give.

  Henry Crawford had destroyed her happiness, but he should not know it; he should not destroy her credit and prosperity too. He should not think of her as pining for him. Independence was more needful than ever; she was less and less able to endure the restraint which her father imposed. Liberty was now become absolutely necessary. She must escape from Mansfield as soon as possible, and find consolation in fortune and consequence for a wounded spirit. She was quite determined.

  To such feelings delay was an evil, and Mr. Rushworth could hardly be more impatient for the marriage than herself. Her mind was fully prepared for matrimony by a hatred of home, the misery of disappointed affection, and contempt of the man she was to marry.

  It appeared that a very few weeks would be sufficient for the wedding arrangements. Mrs. Rushworth was ready to make way for the for
tunate young woman whom her dear son had selected, and removed herself with true dowager propriety to Bath; and before the middle of November the ceremony had taken place which gave Sotherton another mistress.

  It was a very proper wedding. The bride was elegantly dressed; the two bridesmaids were duly inferior; her father gave her away; her mother stood with salts in her hand, expecting to be agitated; her aunt tried to cry; and the service was impressively read by Dr. Grant.

  It was done, and they were gone. Sir Thomas felt as an anxious father must feel, and was indeed experiencing much of the agitation which his wife had fortunately escaped. Mrs. Norris, most happy to assist by spending the day at the Park to support her sister's spirits, and drinking the health of Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth, was all joyous delight; for she had made the match; and no one would have supposed that she had ever heard of conjugal unhappiness in her life, or could have the smallest insight into the disposition of the niece who had been brought up under her eye.

  The couple planned to proceed to Brighton, and take a house there for some weeks. When the novelty of amusement there was over, it would be time for the wider range of London.

  Julia was to go with them to Brighton. Since rivalry between the sisters had ceased, they had been gradually recovering much of their former good understanding; and were exceedingly glad to be with each other at such a time. Some other companion than Mr. Rushworth was of great importance to his lady; and Julia was quite as eager for novelty and pleasure as Maria.

  Their departure made another change at Mansfield, a chasm which required some time to fill up. Even their mother missed them; and how much more their tenderhearted cousin, who wandered about the house, and thought of them with an affectionate regret which they had never done much to deserve!

  CHAPTER 22