As the meal concluded, Sir Thomas, with a significant look at their visitor, announced that he was going to retire to his study to prepare a letter to his sons, to advise them that Henry Crawford would join the search for Fanny.
Henry instantly understood this as an invitation to follow his host and make his formal declaration for Maria’s hand, but he pretended that he did not understand, and instead asked if Miss Bertram might be so kind as to write a little note to Miss Price, to assure her that she should not hesitate, on any point of modesty or decorum, to return to Mansfield Park in the company of Mr. Crawford.
“Come with me into the breakfast-room,” Maria murmured to him, “we shall find everything there, and be sure of having the room to ourselves.”
And indeed they did.
Not twenty minutes later, Mr. Crawford was at the front door, and with a respectful bow and hearty handshake for Sir Thomas he was gone, while the eldest daughter of the house, evidently much discomposed by the necessity of parting with her beloved, retired swiftly to her bedchamber.
Later that evening, Sir Thomas’ complaisance was a little clouded by the realization that Mr. Crawford had left the house without asking for a confidential interview with him. Yet, regarding himself to be a good judge of men, he was not displeased with his prospective new son-in-law, and the satisfied countenance of Maria as she re-joined the family circle that evening confirmed his favourable views.
* * * * * *
A fortnight after Mrs. Smallridge’s accouchement, the trip to Bristol was revived, to Fanny’s great relief. She and Mrs. Butters were to go on the morrow and spend the better part of the day there.
The carriage departed Keynsham Hill for Bristol directly after breakfast, with Fanny, Mrs. Butters and Madame Orly—for the widow was also indulging her lady’s maid with a change of scene—seated comfortably inside with blankets and mufflers. It was a mild day, and Fanny dared to lower the window a little to admire the passing view. The groves of newly-planted trees surrounding the estate, while yet to reach maturity, were picturesquely arranged over the park, and every turn in the lane brought a new view to admire, either screening or revealing the house behind them and the countryside before.
“The evergreen! How beautiful, how welcome, how wonderful the evergreen!” exclaimed Fanny. “When one thinks of it, how astonishing a variety of nature! In some countries we know the tree that sheds its leaf is the variety, but that does not make it less amazing that the same soil and the same sun should nurture plants differing in the first rule and law of their existence. You will think me rhapsodising; but when one is out of doors, one cannot fix one's eyes on the commonest natural production without finding food for a rambling fancy.”
“Good gracious!” cried Mrs. Butters, turning her head to look at Fanny in amused disbelief. “Pray do not speak in such an affected manner, Miss Price. You are sometimes quite an odd creature, I vow. But there, there,” she added, reaching over and patting the governess’s little hand affectionately. “I perceive that you are one of those who have not conversed with a wide variety of persons, but have acquired your knowledge of the world from books. Life in Bristol will cure you of talking like a poet in a garret. But then again, speaking of poets in garrets…” she added, then seemed to drift away in thought.
Fanny, though a great deal abashed, resolved to take Mrs. Butters’ advice as kindly meant and to curb her rhapsodic tendencies where Nature was concerned, at least in certain company. With Edmund, (and here a sigh was stifled) she could always speak as she felt, save on one important point.
Soon the streets of Bristol were gained, and Fanny forgot herself in comparing this seaport city with the Portsmouth of her childhood, the sailors striding along in their wide-legged attire, the sight and smell of fish, oysters and whelks, and the red-faced, loud-voiced women who bargained over them. The widow’s first stop was at the draper’s shop owned by her own family, and Fanny had all the pleasure of admiring bolt after bolt of fabric, and enjoying Madame Orly’s transports over lace and ribbon and le dernier chose. Mrs. Butters selected some sober grey for a dress for Fanny and, at Madame Orly’s urging, a periwinkle blue muslin as well. Fanny asked for some fabric scraps to make doll’s clothes for Caroline. Well pleased with their purchases, the ladies stopped at a tea house, and at last Fanny spied a post office across the street and she excused herself to mail her letters.
Fanny returned from her errand as Mrs. Butters was commencing her second cup of tea. Fanny knew that Mrs. Butters took no sugar in her tea, but, with her mind full of those she had left behind at Mansfield Park, she absent-mindedly offered her the sugar tongs. Mrs. Butters declined, adding, “if you knew, Fanny, where sugar comes from, you would not want it any more.”
“You mean the West Indies, I suppose?” asked Fanny.
“I should perhaps say, how that sugar came to be.”
“You are referring to the slave trade, I fear.”
“I would take no pleasure in enlightening you, no pleasure at all, believe me, as young and innocent as you are.” Here
