Jane Austen's Mansfield Park: Abridged
Page 40
Fanny was right in not expecting to hear from Miss Crawford so regularly; Mary's next letter was after a decidedly longer interval than the last, but she was not right in supposing that such an interval would be a great relief. Here was another strange revolution of mind! She was really glad to receive the letter when it did come. In her present exile from good society, a letter from one belonging to the set where her heart lived, written with affection and elegance, was thoroughly acceptable.
"My letter will not be worth your reading," Mary wrote, "for there will be no little offering of love at the end from the most devoted H. C. in the world, as Henry is in Norfolk. Business called him to Everingham, and his absence may account for his sister's remissness in writing, for there has been no 'Well, Mary, when do you write to Fanny? Is not it time for you to write?' to spur me on. At last, I have seen your cousins, 'dear Julia and dearest Mrs. Rushworth'. We seemed very glad to see each other, and I do really think we were a little. We had a vast deal to say. Shall I tell you how Mrs. Rushworth looked when your name was mentioned? She had not quite self-possession enough for the demands of yesterday. Julia was in the best looks of the two, at least after you were spoken of. But Mrs. Rushworth's day of good looks will come; we have invitations for her first party on the 28th. Then she will be in beauty, for she will open one of the best houses in Wimpole Street. Henry could not have afforded her such a house. I hope she will be satisfied with being the queen of a palace, though the king may be best in the background. As I have no desire to tease her, I shall never force your name upon her again. From all that I hear, Baron Wildenheim's attentions to Julia continue, but without serious encouragement. She ought to do better. A poor honourable is no catch, and I cannot imagine that she likes him, for take away his rants, and the baron has nothing. If his rents were only equal to his rants! Your cousin Edmund moves slowly; detained, perchance, by parish duties. There may be some old woman at Thornton Lacey to be converted. I am unwilling to fancy myself neglected for a young one. Adieu! my dear sweet Fanny: write me a pretty reply to gladden Henry's eyes, and send me an account of all the dashing young captains whom you disdain for his sake."
There was great food for meditation in this letter; and yet, with all the uneasiness it supplied, it connected her with the absent, and she would have been glad to have such a letter every week. Her correspondence with her aunt Bertram was her only concern of higher interest.
As for any society in Portsmouth, there were none amongst her parents' acquaintance to afford her the smallest satisfaction. The men appeared to her all coarse, the women all pert; and she gave as little contentment as she received. The young ladies who approached her at first with some respect, were soon offended by what they termed "airs"; for, as she neither played on the pianoforte nor wore fine furs, they could admit no superiority.
The first consolation which Fanny received for the evils of home, was in a better knowledge of Susan, and a hope of being of service to her. Susan had always behaved pleasantly to Fanny, but the determined character of her general manners had astonished her, and it was a fortnight before she began to understand a disposition so totally different from her own.
Susan saw that much was wrong at home, and wanted to set it right. That a girl of fourteen, without guidance, should err in the method of reform, was not extraordinary; and Fanny soon came to admire the mind which could so early distinguish justly. Susan was only acting on the same truths which Fanny herself acknowledged, but which her more yielding temper would have shrunk from asserting. Susan tried to be useful, where she could only have gone away and cried; and that Susan was useful she could perceive. Bad as they were, things would have been worse without her intervention, and both her mother and Betsey were restrained from some excesses of very offensive vulgarity.
All this became evident, and gradually placed Susan before her sister as an object of compassion and respect. That her manner was wrong, her measures often ill-chosen and ill-timed, and her looks and language often indefensible, Fanny could not cease to feel; but she began to hope they might be rectified. Susan looked up to her and wished for her good opinion; and new as it was to Fanny to imagine herself capable of guiding anyone, she did resolve to give occasional hints to her.
Her influence began in an act of kindness to Susan, which, after many hesitations, she at last worked herself up to. It had occurred to her that a small sum of money might, perhaps, restore peace for ever on the sore subject of the silver knife; and the riches which her uncle had given her made her able to be generous. But she was so wholly unused to confer favours, and so fearful of appearing to elevate herself as a great lady, that it took some time to decide to make such a present.
It was made, however, at last. A silver knife was bought for Betsey, and accepted with great delight, its newness giving it every advantage over the other. Susan was established in the full possession of her own, Betsey handsomely declaring that now she had got one so much prettier herself, she should never want that again; and the mother was equally satisfied.
It was the means of opening Susan's heart, and giving Fanny something more to love and be interested in. Susan showed that she had delicacy: although she was pleased to be mistress of her property, she feared that her sister's judgment had been against her, and that a reproof was designed her in the purchase, made necessary for the tranquillity of the house.
Her temper was open. She acknowledged her fears and blamed herself for having argued so heatedly. Fanny, understanding her worth and perceiving how much she wished for her good opinion, began to hope of being useful to a mind so much needing and deserving help. She gave sound advice, yet so mildly and considerately as not to irritate an imperfect temper, and she had the happiness of observing its good effects. She saw with acute sympathy all that must be hourly grating to a girl like Susan. Her greatest wonder soon became—not that Susan should have been provoked into disrespect and impatience—but that so many good notions should have been hers at all; and that, brought up in the midst of negligence and error, she should have formed such proper opinions of what ought to be; even with no cousin Edmund to fix her principles.
The intimacy thus begun between them benefited each. By sitting together upstairs, they avoided much of the disturbance of the house; Fanny had peace, and Susan learned to enjoy being quietly employed. They sat without a fire; but that was a hardship familiar to Fanny, and she suffered less because reminded by it of the East room.
It was the only point of resemblance. In space, light, furniture, and prospect, there was nothing alike in the two apartments; and she often heaved a sigh as she remembered all her books and comforts. By degrees the girls came to spend most of the morning upstairs, working and talking, but after a few days, Fanny found it impossible not to try for books again. There were none in her father's house; but she became a subscriber to a circulating library, amazed at becoming a renter, a chooser of books! But so it was. Susan had read nothing, and Fanny longed to give her a share in her own first pleasures in biography and poetry.
She hoped, moreover, that it might be useful in diverting her own thoughts from pursuing Edmund to London, where she knew he was now gone. She had no doubt of what would follow. The postman's knock was beginning to bring daily terrors, and if reading could banish the idea for half an hour, it was something gained.
CHAPTER 41