Fanny’s all-too-evident discomfort upon being applied to in this manner was of course immediately noted by both her auditors; even taking into account Fanny’s gentle and reserved manner, she did not appear to be a newly-married woman in love, and Mrs. Butters was by no means inclined to leave off pursuing the matter, especially since she had determined (it must be no secret to the reader) that Fanny was to have married William Gibson, and she was therefore a little disappointed in Fanny, and began to suppose that Fanny had made a loveless, mercenary match. She even hinted as much.
“Now, my dear hostess, don’t condemn the girl if she has married for money,” Mr. Stephen put in bluntly. “We all must have something to live on, and Mrs. Crawford may be in the way of becoming a patron to Mr. Gibson, if she will not have the pleasure of starving with him in a garret. And by ‘patron,’ I do assure you I mean the word literally, Mrs. Crawford, and nothing that would redound to your discredit.”
To have her private affairs canvassed so openly by the two older people, especially after weeks of solitude in Everingham, was such an unexpected turn of events for Fanny, and took her so aback, that she did not even blush or stammer, but found herself confessing that one of her motives in “becoming Mrs. Crawford,” as she put it, was to help her brother’s career. And having said that much, recklessly added that Henry Crawford was a man of good understanding, education, wit, imagination, and address, but…
“But?” prompted Mrs. Butters, truly interested.
Fanny confessed that his fault was a liking to make girls a little in love with him. What a relief it was to her, to say aloud even a small part of the truth! But she could find no words to explain why she did not know where her husband was—for she lacked the guile to dissemble on this point—though only four months married.
Mrs. Butters had heard enough, and started to condemn him as a rake and a libertine, when restrained by Mr. Stephen. “He may yet turn out well, my dear Mrs. Butters, if Mrs. Crawford will be as patient and show as much forbearance and forgiveness as my own poor first wife. Mrs. Crawford may yet make something of her husband. The most abandoned rake may reform his ways, although in my case, to be honest, I think it is the operation of time, and the consequent extinguishment of the passions of youth—not repentance or reflection—that has changed me from an ardent young man to a philosophic old one.”
The flickering firelight, casting its shadow on the wall, the deepening shades of night without, the silence of the household, all lent themselves to a confessional mood, and Fanny found herself listening with amazement and horror to his story:
“Many years ago, I was secretly engaged, to a lovely girl. Nancy's parents objected to me—as well they should have! She was the sister of my dearest friend, Tom, then away in the Navy. Tom was pledged to marry a beautiful girl, Maria. While Nancy, that sweet trusting girl, waited for the day I would take her as my wife, I was so powerfully attracted to Maria’s charms that I began secretly courting her as well. I overcame Maria’s virtue and got her with child.”
Fanny gasped and clasped a hand to her mouth.
“I was then courting two women, and promising to marry both of them. My friend returned to England and learned that I, his good friend, had destroyed all his hopes in this world. He left for a distant post. I never saw him again. Nancy, meanwhile, was driven to despair, almost to suicide.
“I determined to escape to the Caribbean, and as I could marry only one of the two women I loved, I vowed to marry whichever of them could not find herself another husband. But, in the meantime, I fell in love, briefly and violently, with a Scottish girl.”
Fanny’s eyes rolled in her head but she stayed silent.
“As that affair ended, the lovely Maria was courted by another man and taken as his wife. Nancy was great-hearted enough to forgive me and adopt Maria’s baby as our first child.
“There, Mrs. Crawford. Would you say that my character was the same, or worse, than your husband’s? And yet, I have lived to make myself useful to my fellow creatures—” here, Mrs. Butters nodded her head vigorously— “without, indeed, overcoming many, or any of my faults. My temper is bad, my language often vile, and I was more apt to be ashamed of my lack of classical education, than to remedy that lack through constant study. Still, I am proud to be the ally of Mr. Wilberforce, and Mr. Clarkson, and to be one of those who will accomplish the mighty work, please God, in our lifetimes, of making the thought of slavery so detestable to civilized men that we will see it eradicated from the globe.
“So, don’t despair of your own husband, Mrs. Crawford. With the talents you say he possesses, he may yet redeem himself.”
* * * * * *
The next morning, Mrs. Butters and her guests prepared for their day’s diversions. Madame Orly insisted on helping Fanny with her toilette: “We are in London now, Madame Crawford, we must look creditable!”
Mrs. Butters kindly offered to take Susan to see the Tower of London and then to Wapping New Stairs to look in on their brother John, who was a junior clerk at the Marine Police office. Fanny requested to be let off at Wimpole Street to call on her cousins, with a promise to meet her brother another day.
With trembling and apprehension did Fanny descend from the carriage, but her longing for her family gave her the courage to lift the door knocker and gently tap at
