Sir Thomas had last seen Fanny as an unformed, exceedingly timid girl of sixteen, and so could not reconcile his image of her as she was two years ago with the portrait of a young woman so independent of spirit as to leave home without the sanction and protection of her guardian. He was very much affronted, but as Fanny had left him with no means of replying, he could only look his displeasure, and said little. She was well, and in a genteel profession, and off his hands, and if he regretted the entire experiment of taking her under his roof, he confided to no one.
The receipt of Fanny’s letter did away with all the suspense and nearly all the interest that Maria and Julia felt in the matter, and from that time they only mentioned Fanny to complain between themselves that, in her absence, it fell to their lot to wait upon their mother—to untangle her fringe, prepare her tea and play cribbage with her in the evening.
However, Henry Crawford was unwilling to abandon the search, declaring that he would look from John O’Groats to Lands’ End before he gave up the hunt for Miss Price. He had stopped in Mansfield only long enough to return his sister to the parsonage and he was gone again, no one knew where.
Edmund, upon returning from his penitential visit to the Price household to apologize for mislaying their daughter, recollected that his mother had mentioned that Miss Lee, their former governess, was in service near Bristol. But when applied to, his mother could not locate the few letters she had received from Miss Lee, and could not recall the name of her new employers or their direction. “How strange! For Fanny always put my letters away in my little desk here.”
Edmund looked in at the East Room, to search among the belongings Fanny had left behind, and was saddened to see that Fanny’s geraniums on the windowsill were all brown and withered, as no one had thought to water them.
Chapter Ten
As November turned to December, Fanny could reflect with satisfaction on the progress and industry of her pupils, and even congratulate herself on her management of them. Fanny noted that Caroline could not keep away from the pianoforte when allowed into the parlour. Fanny had lately regretted that she could not play an instrument, and reasoned that she was not too old to learn, so with the consent of Mrs. Smallridge, the governess and the little girl sat side-by-side every day, practicing scales, after her mistress had gone upstairs to dress for dinner.
Fanny’s brother William had become a frequent topic of conversation between Fanny and little Edward, who was entranced by everything to do with the Navy, so Fanny soon learned to reward his diligence at his lessons with tales of ‘William the gallant midshipman.’
Shortly before the holidays, she had the joy of a reply from her brother William in Gibraltar, giving his warm-hearted approbation for her decision to become a governess:
You were afraid, I think, he wrote, that I would scold you for leaving the Bertrams—but I know you would not have taken such a step without good reason! And I know who has been ill-treating you there. I am sorry that Sir Thomas has been away from home for so long; I think that, had he been there, matters might have been different. From your earlier letters, I had the idea that he is the only one who can keep Aunt Norris in order.
But never mind it, my Fanny. One day we shall have our own little cottage by the sea and we can bid defiance to all overbearing aunts and cold-hearted cousins.
One night when Fanny was invited to dine with the Smallridges and their guests, and there happening to be an excellent wine served with dinner, Fanny observed with trepidation as Mr. Smallridge, partaking freely, grew ever more satirical in his remarks, while his glittering eyes followed every speaker around the table, until finally, interrupting his wife, he gestured at Fanny and said, “have you noticed, Honoria, how seldom Miss Price speaks, but, when she does speak, what good sense she utters? Is not her voice soft and pleasing? Have you observed, supposing you capable of noticing these nice points, that her grammar is unfailingly correct, her words well chosen, her discourse elegant and modest? That is the mark of a true gentlewoman, ‘pon my word.
“Miss Price,” he said, addressing her directly, “you will please to see to it—I charge you straitly—that Caroline will learn how to speak and to comport herself as a gentlewoman, as you do. My wife, for all of her advantages, was not bred up to it.” Fanny looked down at her plate and flushed crimson, out of embarrassment for herself and mortification for her mistress. But her host had turned his attention back to his wife.
“My advantages?” his lady returned sharply. “I can only suppose you mean—”
“Your beauty, of course, my dear, and your complaisant air, Honoria. Ah, Honoria!” and Fanny perceived he was not addressing his wife but meditating aloud on her name, something he perhaps had done many times before, judging by the way Mrs. Smallridge quietly sighed and laid down her fork. “What an appellation! It is only the lower orders which give their daughters these presumptuous Christian names, coupled with family names such as—such as—pray dear, what was your name before you took mine? I do
