Madame Orly was a petite and voluble woman admitting to the age of five-and-thirty, whose cheerful demeanour, despite the hardships and reverses she had suffered as an émigré after the overthrow of the monarchy, served for Fanny, who was naturally of a melancholic temperament, as an object lesson in how to be happy. Even if half of what Madame Orly had told her was true—the riots in the streets, the cruelty of the Jacobins, the loss of her family, property, fiancé, and very nearly her own life—she had suffered enough for five lifetimes, and yet she appeared to enjoy serving her English mistress, and find an inexhaustible fund of interest and amusement in the doings of all the households in the neighbourhood and indeed, wherever her sparkling dark eyes glanced. Fanny had never met anyone from France and benefitted from practicing the language she had studied under Miss Lee. Madame Orly complimented her effusively on her accent and declared her to be comme une vrai Parisienne.
Although she had much to occupy her hands and head, Fanny naturally had some time to reflect upon those persons so dear to her heart. She was in daily hopes of a letter from her brother William. Soon after her arrival in Keynsham Hill, Fanny had penned a long letter to her brother, beseeching him to understand and support her, and expressing the hope that they could see each other someday.
As for that other most precious to her, and the well-being of all under the roof of Mansfield Park, she yearned for news, but had deliberately placed herself out of the power of receiving any.
* * * * * *
Sir Thomas’ return was of course known to their neighbours at the Parsonage—everyone had remarked on the hired chaise as it passed by—and Mary Crawford, strolling out for a short walk after tea, saw almost every window in the great house lit up, confirming that its master was safely returned. Mrs. Grant was prompt in dispatching a polite congratulatory note to Lady Bertram, and Mary did not spend the following morning looking out of upstairs windows in vain—she was rewarded by the sight of Edmund Bertram strolling down soon after breakfast to deliver his mother’s reply. But scarcely had Mary and Mrs. Grant begun to congratulate him on the safe return of Sir Thomas, when his newest intelligence that his cousin had disappeared stopped them in the full flow of their civilities.
Edmund perceived how Miss Crawford’s countenance gave every testimony of her alarm and distress. It was no slight consolation to him that the young woman whose principles and character he had sometimes doubted was so taken up with the fact that Fanny was not in Portsmouth. She looked, she spoke, in such a way as to recommend herself irresistibly to his anxious heart. He stayed with them above half an hour until finally, recollecting his true errand, asked if Mr. Crawford would soon be returning to Mansfield? Mary undertook to write to her brother that very morning, and modestly declined to return with him to the house, ‘as she supposed Sir Thomas would want to be only with his family at such a time,’ giving such further proofs of her sweet nature as materially lessened Edmund’s cares, and he returned to the great house in a much better frame of mind than when he left.
“What can this mean, sister?” cried Mary when their visitor left. “It is impossible to suppose that Fanny Price, of all people, has eloped. She had no admirers that I know of.”
“I don’t know what to make of it, Mary,” came the reply. “Did she not positively write that she was going to Portsmouth? Oh, I dread to think—but no, we must not look for the worst, but hope for the best.”
“We all believed she went to Portsmouth,” answered Mary thoughtfully. “And so I wrote to her there. Oh, do you suppose that her family—no one there would open a letter addressed to Miss Price, would they? They would return the letter to me, would they not?”
“Upon my word, I don’t know,” her sister remarked. “But depend upon it, Sir Thomas and his sons will do everything in their power to recover her. Let us not speak of this outside of our own little circle—it may be that the family does not wish the world to know of Miss Price’s disappearance.”
Mrs. Grant was correct—Sir Thomas had judged it best not to advertise the fact of his niece’s absence among his friends, or to place a notice in any newspaper. The consequences of giving such notoriety to a lady were undeniable and evident; the consequences of refraining from publishing the news, less certain, and only the event would prove whether he had been correct in maintaining an embargo on the subject outside the family circle.
Mary Crawford did apprise Henry Crawford of this astonishing turn of events when summoning him back from their uncle’s home in London—no one could expect such a degree of female taciturnity as to keep the interesting subject from her brother—and when he arrived at the Grants’ doorstep, two days later, he appeared to be more animated and interested in the mystery surrounding Miss Price, than in his own future with Miss Bertram.
“Mary, what’s the news? What has been done to recover Miss Price?”
“Edmund Bertram enquired at the post office, and he learned that she did receive and send some letters before she left, but the stupid old postmaster does not recall the directions. He also interviewed the driver of the mail coach. He is
