Jane Austen's Mansfield Park: Abridged

by Emma Laybourn

Mr. Crawford gone, Sir Thomas's next object was that he should be missed; and he hoped that his niece would find a blank in the loss of his attentions, and that her sinking again into nothing would awaken wholesome regrets in her mind. He watched her with this idea; but he could hardly tell with what success. She was always so gentle and retiring that her emotions were beyond him. He did not understand her: and therefore applied to Edmund to tell him whether she were more or less happy than she had been.

  Edmund did not see any symptoms of regret. What chiefly surprised him was that Crawford's sister, the friend who had been so much to her, should not be missed more. He wondered that Fanny spoke so seldom of her.

  Alas! it was this sister, this friend, who was now the chief bane of Fanny's comfort. If she could have believed Mary's future fate unconnected with Mansfield, she would have been light of heart indeed; but the more she observed, the more deeply was she convinced that everything was now in a fair train for Miss Crawford's marrying Edmund. His objections, his scruples, seemed all done away, nobody could tell how; and his doubts about her ambition were equally got over—and equally without apparent reason. It could only be through increasing attachment. His good and her bad feelings yielded to love, and such love must unite them.

  He was to go to town within a fortnight; he loved to talk of going; and when once with her again, Fanny could not doubt the rest. Her acceptance must be as certain as his offer; and yet the prospect of it was most sorrowful to her, independently of self.

  In their last conversation, Miss Crawford, in spite of much personal kindness, had still been Miss Crawford; still shown a mind led astray and bewildered, and without any suspicion of being so; darkened, yet fancying itself light. She might love, but she did not deserve Edmund by any other sentiment. Fanny believed there was scarcely a second feeling in common between them; and felt that if Edmund's influence had already done so little in regulating her notions, his worth would be finally wasted on her even in years of matrimony. As Fanny was convinced of this, she suffered very much, and could never speak of Miss Crawford without pain.

  Sir Thomas, meanwhile, still expected to see the effect of the loss of consequence on his niece's spirits. He was soon able to account for his not yet observing this, by the approach of another visitor to lift Fanny’s spirits. William had obtained a ten days' leave of absence, and was coming, the happiest of lieutenants, to show his happiness and describe his uniform.

  He came; and he would have been delighted to show his uniform too, had not cruel custom prohibited its appearance except on duty. So the uniform remained at Portsmouth, and Edmund thought that Fanny would not have any chance of viewing it, before its freshness was worn away; until Sir Thomas formed a scheme which meant Fanny could see the second lieutenant of HMS Thrush in all his glory.

  This scheme was that she should accompany her brother back to Portsmouth, and spend some time with her own family. Sir Thomas consulted his son, who thought it would be highly agreeable to Fanny; but Sir Thomas had another motive in sending her away, which had nothing at all to do with any idea of making her happy. He certainly wished her to go willingly, but he as certainly wished her to be heartily sick of home before her visit ended; and hoped a little abstinence from the luxuries of Mansfield Park would sober her mind, and help her to better appreciate Henry Crawford’s offer.

  It was a medicinal project, for he considered that his niece’s understanding must at present be diseased. A residence of eight or nine years amidst wealth and plenty had disordered her powers of judging. Her father's house would teach her the value of a good income; and he trusted that she would be the wiser and happier woman all her life, for the experiment he had devised.

  Had Fanny been at all addicted to raptures, she must have had a strong attack of them when her uncle first made her the offer of visiting the parents, brothers, and sisters, from whom she had been divided almost half her life; of returning to them with William as companion, and continuing to see William while he remained on land. She was indeed delighted, but her happiness was of a quiet, deep, heart-swelling sort. At the moment she could only thank and accept.

  Afterwards, she could speak to William and Edmund of what she felt; but still there were tender emotions that could not be clothed in words. The remembrance of all her earliest pleasures, and of what she had suffered in being torn from them, came over her with renewed strength, and it seemed as if to be at home again would heal every pain that had grown out of the separation. To be in the centre of such a circle, loved by so many; to feel affection without restraint; to feel herself the equal of those who surrounded her; to be at peace from all mention of the Crawfords. This was a prospect to be dwelt on with fondness.

  Edmund, too—to be two months from him must do her good. At a distance, unassailed by his looks or his kindness, she should be able to reason herself into a more proper state; she should be able to think of him as in London, and arranging everything there, without wretchedness. What might have been hard to bear at Mansfield was to become a slight evil at Portsmouth.

  The only drawback was the doubt of her aunt Bertram's being comfortable without her. That part of the arrangement was, indeed, the hardest for Sir Thomas to accomplish.

  But he was master at Mansfield Park. When he had really resolved on any measure, he could always carry it through; and now by dwelling on the duty of Fanny's sometimes seeing her family, he did induce his wife to let her go.

  The next step was to communicate with Portsmouth. Fanny wrote to offer herself; and her mother's answer, though short, was so kind as to confirm all the daughter's views of happiness in being with her—convincing her that she should now find a warm friend in the "mama" who had certainly shown no remarkable fondness for her formerly; but this she could easily suppose to have been her own fault. She had probably alienated love by fretfulness, or been unreasonable in wanting a larger share than one among so many could deserve. Now, when she knew better how to be useful, and when her mother could be no longer occupied by the incessant demands of a house full of little children, there would be leisure for every comfort, and they should soon be what mother and daughter ought to be to each other.

  William was almost as happy in the plan as his sister. It would be the greatest pleasure to have her there to the last moment before he sailed, and perhaps find her there still when he came in from his first cruise. And besides, he wanted her so very much to see the Thrush before she went out of harbour—the Thrush was certainly the finest sloop in the service—and the dockyard, too, which he quite longed to show her. In addition, her being at home for a while would be a great advantage to everybody.

  "I do not know how it is," said he; "but we seem to want some of your orderliness at my father's. The house is always in confusion. You will set things going in a better way, I am sure. How right and comfortable it will all be!"

  For a few hours the young travellers were in a good deal of alarm about their journey: Mrs. Norris found that in spite of her hints for a less expensive conveyance of Fanny, they were to travel post; and when she saw Sir Thomas give William money for the purpose, she was struck with the idea of there being room for a third in the carriage, and suddenly seized with a strong inclination to go with them to see her poor dear sister Price. She proclaimed her thoughts.

  William and Fanny were horror-struck at the idea. All their comfort would be destroyed. With woeful countenances they looked at each other. Mrs. Norris was left to settle the matter by herself; and it ended, to the infinite joy of her nephew and niece, in the recollection that she could not possibly be spared from Mansfield Park at present.

  It had, in fact, occurred to her, that though taken to Portsmouth for nothing, it would be hardly possible for her to avoid paying her own expenses back again. So her poor dear sister Price was left to all the disappointment of, perhaps, another twenty years' absence.

  Edmund's plans were affected by this Portsmouth journey. He had intended, about this time, to be going to London; but he could not leave his father and m
other just when everybody else of most importance to their comfort was leaving them. With an effort, felt but not boasted of, he delayed for a week or two longer a journey which he was looking forward to with the hope of its fixing his happiness for ever.

  He told Fanny of it. She knew so much already, that she must know everything. Fanny was affected, feeling it to be the last time in which Miss Crawford's name would ever be mentioned between them with any liberty. Once afterwards he alluded to her. Lady Bertram had been telling her niece to write to her soon and often, and Edmund added in a whisper, "And I shall write to you, Fanny, when I have anything to say that I think you will like to hear." Had she doubted his meaning, the glow in his face, when she looked up at him, would have been decisive.

  For this letter she must try to arm herself. That a letter from Edmund should be a subject of terror! She began to feel that the varied trials of the human mind had not yet been exhausted by her.

  Poor Fanny! though going eagerly, the last evening at Mansfield Park must still be wretched. She had tears for every room in the house, and every beloved inhabitant. She clung to her aunt, because she would miss her; she kissed the hand of her uncle with struggling sobs, because she had displeased him; and as for Edmund, she could neither speak, nor look, nor think; and it was not till it was over that she knew he was giving her the affectionate farewell of a brother.

  The journey began very early in the morning; and when the diminished party met at breakfast, William and Fanny were talked of as already advanced one stage.

  CHAPTER 38