Henry eyed his sister narrowly. “You have been particularly distracted ever since Mr. Edmund Bertram decided to visit Portsmouth while we went to St. Albans.”
Mary looked out of the window and shook her head in vexation. “We may already be too late.”
Henry placed a consoling hand on hers and out of consideration for her mood, said nothing more.
Two more days saw the conclusion of their errand in St. Albans. The widow Renfro, while affable and open-hearted, and recalling Miss Price perfectly, could not recall anything the young lady might have said concerning her journey or its purpose. The Crawfords then resumed their travels and reached the environs of Portsmouth just before tea time on the day after parting from Tom Bertram. After consulting several passers-by, something Mr. Crawford was loath to do, but upon which his sister insisted— ‘or else we will roam about this dreadful town ‘til nightfall, Henry!’—the correct street and house were located. The narrow, dark lane, with its antiquated over-hanging buildings, smelt of the sea, and fish, and tar and rotting cabbage. Mary climbed down from the carriage and frowned in dismay, feeling ill.
“Henry, this horrid place cannot be where the Prices live, for heaven’s sake, do not leave—” she began, when the door was opened by a young girl, who confirmed that Lieutenant Price and his family dwelt within. Mr. Crawford ordered his driver to continue and promised to return for her in a quarter of an hour, and Mary Crawford, pulling her cloak tightly about her, was ushered into a small, cramped abode where she was greeted by the younger sister of Lady Bertram, whose path in life had differed so profoundly from the mistress of Mansfield Park, that in comparing the tired features and contracted brow of Mrs. Price with the placid expression of Sir Thomas’ wife, Mary felt here was a triumphant vindication of her maxim that it was everyone's duty to look out for themselves and marry well.
Mrs. Price gave her a civil welcome when she introduced herself as a friend of the Bertrams, and urged Susan, for such was the name of Fanny's younger sister, to quickly move the mending and the cat so Miss Crawford could have a place to sit, and halloo’d to the kitchen for someone to bring tea. In answer to Miss Crawford’s enquiry, Mrs. Price confirmed that, unfortunately, Fanny had sent them no further word. Her sister Bertram had written her several times concerning the efforts made to recover her, and Mr. Edmund Bertram had left them only yesterday, so the Prices had already heard the Crawfords spoken of most highly—how Mr. Crawford was sparing no efforts on their behalf, and how Miss Crawford had left the comforts of her own home to assist him.
“We were not quite certain why it was that Fanny told no one where she was going. Pray, Miss Crawford, did they part on bad terms? If Fanny has behaved poorly, I hope that Sir Thomas will still be inclined to assist my youngest boys, as he has been so obliging with William, John, and Richard! It was owing to his influence that John works as a clerk in London, you know, and Richard is with the East India Company, thanks to Sir Thomas.”
“I could not tell you why your daughter left Mansfield as she did, Mrs. Price, but from all I understand of Sir Thomas, I think you have nothing to fear from that quarter.” Miss Crawford then civilly wished good fortune to all of Mrs. Price’s children, and received in reply an enumeration of all six sons, their ages, states of health, habits and pursuits, as could tire the patience of the most doating relative and was stupefying to one who was, in fact, entirely indifferent to the entire Price tribe. The youngest girl, Betsey, then made her appearance and stood and stared fixedly at Mary, without intermission, despite Susan’s efforts to draw her away.
“Pray, Mrs. Price,” Miss Crawford asked, as Mrs. Price finally reached the end of her recitation with the doings of young Charles, “as we will doubtless locate your eldest daughter without any further loss of time, may we convey her letters to her? Did Mr. Bertram collect her letters while he was here? I know he and Lady Bertram sent letters to your home for Fanny, and as it happens, I myself—”
“Oh yes,” answered her hostess, half-listening as she pushed the workbasket across the floor with one foot so that it covered the worst worn spot on the carpet, “we did receive some letters for Fanny, but Mr. Bertram did not enquire for them and I never thought of it. Let me see….” she pulled at the top drawer of a battered sideboard, which refused to open. A firmer tug and the drawer yielded, nearly spilling all of its contents on the floor. Mrs. Price pawed and rummaged, pulling out bits of ribbon, parts of a broken mantelpiece clock, and stubs of candles, more than once exclaiming to herself, ‘THERE it is!;’ but Miss Crawford came to realize it was not Fanny’s correspondence she was referring to but some other long-lost object. After a few moments, Mrs. Price abandoned the effort and apologized but, she was sure, she had placed the letters there in the drawer. The careless servant might have started a fire with them, or Betsey may have taken them to draw upon, or they might turn up again at some point, and if they did, she would be certain to keep them for poor Fanny. She then excused herself to discover what was delaying Rebekah in bringing their tea and Susan followed her to the kitchen, from whence a loud and somewhat rancorous conversation could be
