Jane Austen's Mansfield Park: Abridged

by Emma Laybourn

Miss Crawford's uneasiness was much lightened by this conversation, and she walked home in better spirits. As that very evening brought her brother down from London again in his usual cheerfulness, she had nothing farther to dismay her. He still refused to tell her what he had gone for; the day before it might have irritated, but now it was a pleasant joke—she suspected him of concealing some surprise to herself.

  The next day did bring a surprise to her. Henry had said he would just go and ask the Bertrams how they did, and be back in ten minutes, but he was gone above an hour. When his sister, who had been waiting for him impatiently, cried out, "My dear Henry, where can you have been all this time?" he said that he had been sitting with Lady Bertram and Fanny.

  "For an hour and a half!" exclaimed Mary.

  "Yes, Mary," said he, drawing her arm within his: "I could not get away sooner; Fanny looked so lovely! I am quite determined, Mary. My mind is entirely made up. You must be aware that I am quite determined to marry Fanny Price."

  The surprise was now complete; for his sister had never suspected his having any such views; and she looked so astonished that he was obliged to repeat what he had said. The surprise was not unwelcome. There was even pleasure with it. Mary was in a state of mind to rejoice in a connexion with the Bertram family, and to be not displeased with her brother's marrying a little beneath him.

  "Yes, Mary," was Henry's assurance. "I am fairly caught. You know with what idle designs I began; but this is the end of them. I have, I flatter myself, made progress in her affections; but my own are entirely fixed."

  "Lucky, lucky girl!" cried Mary; "what a match for her! I approve your choice from my soul. You will have a sweet little wife; all gratitude and devotion. Exactly what you deserve. What an amazing match for her! How her family will rejoice! But tell me all about it! When did you begin to think seriously about her?"

  Nothing could be more impossible, yet more agreeable, than to answer such a question. "How the pleasing plague had stolen on him" he could not say.

  "Ah, my dear Henry, this is what took you to London! You chose to consult the Admiral before you made up your mind."

  But this he stoutly denied; the Admiral hated marriage.

  "When Fanny is known to him," continued Henry, "he will dote on her. She is exactly the woman to do away every prejudice of such a man as the Admiral. But till it is absolutely settled, he shall know nothing of the matter. No, Mary, you have not discovered my business yet."

  "Well, I am satisfied. I know now to whom it must relate, and am in no hurry for the rest. Fanny Price! quite wonderful! You could not have chosen better. There is not a better girl in the world; and as to her connexions, she is niece to Sir Thomas Bertram: that is enough. But go on. Tell me more. Does she know her own happiness?"

  "No."

  "What are you waiting for?"

  "For very little more than opportunity. Mary, she is not like her cousins; but I think I shall not ask in vain."

  "Oh no! you cannot. Even supposing her not to love you already (of which, however, I have little doubt)—you would be safe. Her gentleness and gratitude would secure her immediately. I do not think she would marry you without love; but ask her to love you, and she will never have the heart to refuse."

  A conversation followed almost as deeply interesting to her as to himself, though he had in fact nothing to relate but his own sensations, nothing to dwell on but Fanny's charms. Fanny's beauty, Fanny's graces of manner and goodness of heart, were the exhaustless theme. Her temper he had good reason to depend on. He had often seen it tried. Was there one of the family, excepting Edmund, who had not in some way exercised her patience? Her affections were evidently strong. To see her with her brother! Then, her understanding was quick and clear; and her manners were the mirror of her modest and elegant mind.

  Nor was this all. Henry Crawford had too much sense not to feel the worth of good principles in a wife, though he might not know them by their proper name; but when he talked of her having a steadiness of conduct, and a high notion of honour and decorum, he expressed what was inspired by the knowledge of her being well principled and religious.

  "I could so wholly and absolutely confide in her," said he; "and that is what I want."

  Well might his sister rejoice in Fanny’s prospects.

  "I am convinced that you are doing right; and though I should never have selected Fanny Price as the girl to attach you, I am now persuaded she is the very one to make you happy. Your wicked project upon her peace turns out a clever thought indeed. You will both find your good in it."

  "It was bad, very bad in me against such a creature; but I did not know her then; and I will make her very happy, Mary; happier than she has ever yet been. I will not take her from Northamptonshire. I shall let Everingham, and rent a place in this neighbourhood."

  "Ha!" cried Mary; "settle in Northamptonshire! That is pleasant! Then we shall be all together."

  When she had spoken it, she recollected herself, and wished it unsaid; but her brother saw her only as the inmate of Mansfield parsonage, and invited her in the kindest manner to his own house.

  "You must give us more than half your time," said he. "I cannot admit Mrs. Grant to have an equal claim with Fanny and myself. Fanny will be so truly your sister!"

  Mary gave grateful assurances; but she was now very fully purposed to be the guest of neither brother nor sister many months longer.

  “In London, of course, you will have a house of your own: no longer with the Admiral. My dearest Henry, the advantage to you of getting away from the Admiral before your manners are hurt by contagion of his; before you have contracted any of his foolish opinions, or learned to sit over your dinner as if it were the best blessing of life! Your marrying early may be the saving of you. To have seen you grow like the Admiral would have broken my heart."

  "Well, well, we do not think alike here. The Admiral has his faults, but he is a very good man, and has been more than a father to me. Few fathers would have let me have my own way half so much. You must not prejudice Fanny against him. I must have them love one another."

  Mary refrained from saying that two people could not be less alike; but she could not help remarking, "Henry, if I supposed the next Mrs. Crawford were to be treated like my poor aunt, the Admiral’s wife, I would prevent the marriage; but I know you. I know that a wife you loved would be the happiest of women, and that even when you ceased to love, she would still find in you the good-breeding of a gentleman."

  The impossibility of ceasing to love Fanny Price was of course his eloquent answer.

  "Had you seen her this morning, Mary, attending with such sweetness and patience to all the demands of her aunt's stupidity, her colour beautifully heightened as she leant over her work, with such unpretending gentleness, one little curl of hair falling forward as she wrote, which she now and then shook back; and in the midst of all this, still listening to what I said. Had you seen her so, Mary, you would not have thought her power over my heart could ever cease."

  "My dearest Henry," cried Mary, "how glad I am to see you so much in love! But what will Mrs. Rushworth and Julia say?"

  "I care not. They will now see what sort of woman it is that can attach me, that can attach a man of sense. I wish the discovery may do them good. They will now see their cousin treated as she ought to be, and I wish they may be heartily ashamed of their own abominable neglect and unkindness. They will be angry," he added, after a moment's silence, and in a cooler tone; "Mrs. Rushworth will be very angry. It will be a bitter pill to her; that is, it will have two moments' ill flavour, and then be swallowed and forgotten; for I do not suppose her feelings more lasting than other women's. My Fanny will feel a difference in the behaviour of everyone who approaches her; and I will be happy to know that I am the doer of it. Now she is dependent, friendless, neglected, forgotten."

  "Nay, Henry, not by all. Her cousin Edmund never forgets her."

  "Edmund! True, I believe he is generally kind to her, and so is Sir Thomas in his way; but it
is the way of a rich, superior, long-worded uncle. What can Sir Thomas and Edmund do for her happiness, comfort, honour, and dignity, compared to what I shall do?"

  CHAPTER 31