The physician returned and bled them some more—Fanny doubted the efficacy of this treatment, but could not oppose herself against his authority—and little Edward grew fretful, at which the women rejoiced, for it was a sign that the spark of life was in him, while Caroline lay still, her eyelids twitching, with only her slow breathing giving proof that she was still alive, while a fire raged in her little body.
Fanny lingered in silent prayer over Caroline, begging that the family be spared a tragedy that seemed inevitable, that would likely end with husband and wife permanently estranged; she, hating him for exposing their children to the crowded throngs at the Market, and he, seeking what consolation he could in ardent spirits, which, as Fanny had already observed, transformed him from an English gentleman into a snarling tyrant.
Nor was Edward considered out of danger as yet, for his throat was seriously inflamed and very painful, and Fanny and Anna suffered to watch him suffer, and defied the physician in his absence, because he had forbidden that the children be given chips of ice to suck on, nor even much water to drink!
And, as thoughts of self will intrude even at such times as these, Fanny meditated on the reverses and sorrows of her own life, and berated herself for ever thinking that she had endured anything that deserved the name of hardship, as compared to the anguish of a mother who had already lost one child, and was not permitted to attend the deathbed of another for fear of contagion, and who, because of the pride and the ill-will that had built up between them, could not even seek consolation in her husband’s arms. Fanny thought of her own mother, who was considered lucky to have brought ten children into the world, and had lost only one of them, and she wondered how often her family thought of poor Mary, whose time had been so brief on this earth. Or, even considering Caroline herself, who lay between life and death, at only six years of age—would those six years be all that she ever knew before death closed her eyes? How did suffering the pinpricks of an Aunt Norris compare to having to quit this earth after only six years? Fanny made a solemn pledge to her Creator to combat her besetting sin—which she now identified as, if not self-love, then excessive solicitude for herself—if only, if only, little Caroline would keep breathing! If she could only give a small answering squeeze of her tiny hand!
In the middle of the night, Fanny became aware that Mr. Smallridge had entered and was kneeling at the foot of Caroline’s bed. She could smell the brandy on his breath. He wept and watched helplessly, and asked if there was any hope, and Fanny promised to send for him if there was any change, for better or worse. After about an hour, he went away, still weeping. Fanny kept applying cool cloths and fanning the little girl, and speaking words of encouragement and exhortation to Caroline in low tones, and the minutes crept slowly by, with hours to go before the dawn.
* * * * * *
Maria privately applied to her father for his blessing on her marriage with Henry Crawford, but Sir Thomas would not relent. He had determined that July, four months away, would be the earliest month on which he would pronounce on the matter; the end of July being when the lease of their London town home expired and the London Bertrams would rejoin the Mansfield Park Bertrams once again. With so many doubts raised against Henry Crawford’s constancy in love, a three months’ courtship was hardly sufficient to put that constancy to the proof, especially considering Crawford had absented himself for most of that time. And in that further interval, Sir Thomas sincerely wished to find reasons to like his proposed new son-in-law better than he did, and to feel secure in entrusting his daughter’s happiness to him. He could no longer deceive himself—he saw that Henry Crawford was indifferent in his attentions to his daughter, he was lured away from her side by numerous other pleasures, and while he was an engaging and intelligent young man, he was not a serious one. He therefore hoped that Maria herself would tire of her suitor’s neglect and put an end to the match and for that reason did not make a point of insisting that Crawford apply formally for her hand, as he ought to have done last autumn.
Sir Thomas had another reason for delaying the match—the returns from his Antigua plantations continued at a loss; the lack of labour, owing to the restrictions on the slave trade, began to be felt (for the unhealthy climate, and the rigorous toil, took more lives than were ever born on those islands) and he determined that he would sell part or all of his interests, if a ready buyer could be found. It would be from the proceeds of this sale that he could come down with the funds for Maria’s dowry, which he would rather do than diminish the funds held in investments for that purpose.
With such a holding back on the part of the father, Henry Crawford resumed thinking of his wedding to Maria as a very distant thing, which might, after all, come apart in the end. His affection for his sister Mary, and
