“I undertake to write him this very day for you, and to insist upon an early reply—should my letter find him, for he may be at Hill Street with my uncle, or gone fox hunting with Lord Delingpole, or heaven knows where. But wherever he is, I am certain he is thinking of you. And do not forget, you are not the only sufferer in Henry’s absence. My poor brother-in-law has had no excuse to order extra dishes for dinner or drink claret for a week. Spare a thought for Dr. Grant’s trials, in the midst of your distress! Pray, is there any news of Sir Thomas—or of Miss Price?”
“No, we have heard nothing from either, but we do not expect to have word from father until he is on our doorstep. Once he has reached an English port, he will travel to us more rapidly than the mail coach, I am certain.”
“And no word from your cousin in Portsmouth? No assurance of her safe arrival?”
“I think not. It is most unaccountable, is it not? I never would have thought that my cousin Fanny had more daring than either Julia or I. We would never have gone abroad without a chaperone, in such a fashion.”
“Ah, but surely there is no comparing the Misses Bertram with Miss Price, so far as the expectations of the world are taken into account? She may come or go, and is not noticed by anyone out of the little family circle, whereas, if the two first young ladies of the county were to decamp, we cannot doubt that Dame Rumour and her attendants Envy and Malice would follow in their wake, human nature being what it is. Everyone looks up to the Miss Bertrams for showing the world what female conduct should be, while Miss Price sets the pattern for nobody.”
“Even so, I had not thought my cousin capable of it.”
“Perhaps your Aunt Norris is correct that Miss Price is a sly, subtle creature. I always thought she was as she appeared to be—quiet, retiring, even timid, but evidently she harboured secrets. Did she ever confide anything to you of her innermost wishes?”
Maria looked startled by the question. “Fanny? Confide in me? No, I think not.”
Miss Crawford flattered and pressed, and suggested that Miss Bertram, with her superior intelligence and penetration, must be in the secret of Fanny Price’s true character and her unspoken longings. But she finally had to conclude, from Maria’s answering entirely by rote—speaking of anxiety for Fanny while showing none, that she was almost entirely indifferent about her cousin, and was not in the least curious about what had driven Fanny to leave Mansfield! Fanny’s heart, Fanny’s woes, were but of little interest, at least in comparison with Maria’s own concerns, which she soon took up again.
“Mr. Yates has left us, Mary, did you know? So we are all alone. You cannot conceive how lonely and solitary we are, after all the bustle of the play-acting! There are to be no more dinner parties or card parties either, as Edmund and Tom are being so hateful. They say the entire neighbourhood is speculating about me so I should not go abroad, either.” She sighed. “They, of course, may go wherever they please, whenever they please.”
“And when Mr. Edmund Bertram goes to Peterborough to be ordained, as it apparently pleases him to do so, our little circle will be even smaller! Will you wait until your brother is in orders, so that he can perform the wedding ceremony for you and Henry?”
“Edmund? No, that would seem odd to me, somehow. Dr. Grant will suffice. Only...”
“What is the matter, Maria?”
“As I now recollect, your brother has not asked me to marry him. He said we would be reunited soon, and all sorts of wonderful things, but he did not, in point of fact, ask for my hand.”
“Oh, pray do not worry. Perhaps he is waiting until he can speak with your father. Henry is quite old-fashioned in some ways, you know.”
“In no way that I have observed!”
To turn Maria’s thoughts to a happier train, Miss Crawford began to speak of Everingham, her brother’s estate in Norfolk, and how handsome Henry had made the park and shrubberies all around it, and how it lacked only a mistress to make it all that was elegant and comfortable. Maria took her leave, feeling tolerably reassured, and with a promise to Miss Crawford that she would petition her brother Edmund to allow the use of the little grey mare to ride out if the weather continued fine.
Miss Crawford then went upstairs and composed a reproachful letter to her brother: Oh Henry, when will you be serious at last? She then, impulsively, pulled out another sheet of letter paper and composed a longer letter to “Dear Miss Price,” directed to the Price home in Portsmouth.
Chapter Seven
The journey was accomplished in a little over three days (Mrs. Butters preferring to spend no more than six hours every day on the road), and late in the afternoon, five days after Fanny had left her home, the carriage turned into the drive of Keynsham Hill, the estate of Mr. and Mrs. Smallridge, near Bristol. Three days’ companionship in a closed carriage and at wayside inns had raised Fanny yet higher in the older lady’s esteem. Miss Price was an attentive and courteous listener, faultlessly polite in her ways, tidy and regular in her habits, unobtrusive when Mrs. Butters was dozing in her seat, and conversable when her hostess was inclined to speak. Fanny could well tolerate long periods of silence on the journey, as she had so much to reflect upon, and was passing through country she had never seen, and although nothing could be viewed to its best advantage in the damps of late October, she was sometimes carried out of herself by the contemplation of a fine prospect
