Fanny started guiltily, and knew not how to answer the charges against her, until Mary and Henry began laughing together.
“In fact, Miss Price, we introduced ourselves to the—may I say, very charming—Mrs. Smallridge, as your distant relations, so I’d advise you to refer to us in those terms.” Henry fell to devising, extempore, an imaginary family tree, complete with elopements, missing heirs who had peculiarly-shaped birthmarks, hauntingly beautiful Spanish dancers and wicked stepmothers, and Fanny had to admire the rapidity of his powers of invention and the flow of his wit.
“But, Fanny,” admonished Mary Crawford, “you may as well know that your conduct has astonished, and I am sorry to say, raised some resentment against you among your cousins. It was my hope that in finding you, we might help to reconcile you with your family…. one day.”
Fanny trembled involuntarily and she felt the tears stinging, which she tried to control. “One day? Are they so very angry with me, Miss Crawford?”
Mary looked out the window, as though she were recalling a painful interview. “One in particular, so disapproves of your behaviour, that I would advise you not to attempt to communicate with him at this time.” She made a slight gesture to her brother, who swiftly moved away, picked up a newspaper and pretended to be absorbed in it. Lowering her voice, Maria said to Fanny, “You left Edmund—Mr. Edmund Bertram a letter, did you not?”
Fanny nodded dumbly, unable to trust her voice.
“I have never seen him so discomposed as he was then. He has said very little to me on the subject, but I believe he thought your communication to be... what was the word he used? Ah yes—presumptuous. Something about you presuming to give him advice on an important subject. I do not know to what, in particular, he referred. And of course the entire family unites in thinking you ungrateful and lacking in respect.”
Fanny turned her head for a moment, wishing to die on the spot rather than let Miss Crawford witness her humiliation and dismay. With an effort, she blinked away her tears, and moved toward the windows. She caught a glimpse of Miss Crawford’s face in the pier glass. Miss Crawford was regarding her curiously, eagerly, anxiously. While her voice proclaimed sympathy and sadness, her countenance told of machination and deceit.
Fanny remained for some moments with her back to Miss Crawford, undecided what to do or say. She is lying—exaggerating—deceiving me about Edmund. How could she think I would believe Edmund would speak of me so cruelly? What is she about? At last, Miss Crawford broke the silence.
“My dear Miss Price—Fanny. May I call you Fanny? Edmund Bertram and I are in such sympathy on so many points, we agree together so well, we have become, in short…. such….. close friends, that it pains me that we differ on this one subject. I trust that in time I may bring about a reconciliation, but for now, please be guided by me, and do not provoke him.”
“It matters not,” Fanny heard herself say. “I do not desire to return to Mansfield Park. This is the new life that I’ve chosen.” Had she not turned her back to both of them, she would have perceived the looks of astonishment on the faces of both her auditors, and the glances they quickly exchanged with each other of perplexity and dismay.
Fanny would have said more in her own defense, she could have expressed her belief that she would be reconciled with her family one day, but she shrank from sharing her hopes and fears with two people for whom she felt neither affection nor confidence. Let them think of her what they liked. The less they knew of her true sentiments, the less they could impose on her.
The entrance of servants with the tea-board put an end to all conversation and Fanny gratefully used the interval of preparing and serving tea to compose herself further. At last, she ventured, “Will you be returning to Northamptonshire or to Norfolk, Mr. Crawford? Or perhaps London?”
“After travelling across the breadth and almost the length of England in search of you, Miss Price, some quiet solitude at home is all I could wish for,” replied Mr. Crawford with some archness of manner.
“It was indeed very good of you to go to such an effort, sir,” cried Fanny, forcing herself to speak calmly, “but I do recall that in my last letter to the family, I explained that I was safe and well and that I would let them know where I was, in due course—I hope your journey was enjoyable for its own sake. Have you been to Bristol before, Miss Crawford?”
“Fanny, you may wish to resort to polite nothings, but believe me, we did not travel this far to debate the merits of Kings Weston versus Blaise Castle. We wish to see you reconciled with your family but we believe, my brother and I, only time—along with, I need hardly add, every show of contrition and remorse on your part—can heal the breach.” Mary Crawford hesitated over a plate of small triangles of bread and butter and chose a slice.
Fanny could not help but smile as she thought of what form “forgiveness” would take with her aunt Norris. Perhaps censorious hints of ingratitude, dropped only every half hour, as opposed to every quarter. A breeze, coming through the window near where she sat, ruffled her new curls and tickled her ear. You are stronger
