“Thank you. Now that my whereabouts have been discovered, if any members of my family wish to communicate their sentiments to me directly, they will do so.”
“Is this Fanny Price?” exclaimed Mr. Crawford, laying down his newspaper in astonishment.
“Upon my word, Fanny, you are quite an altered creature from the girl we knew in Northamptonshire!” his sister added. “I recall once conversing with your cousins about the revolution in manners produced when a young girl comes out in society, but this—this new indifference, this coldness, is astounding.”
Fanny looked at them silently, thinking: And did you really know me in Northamptonshire? Did anyone know me, save Edmund? Did anyone care enough about me to know me? Did I even know myself?
But aloud she said only, “I am very obliged to you—I am sorry, exceedingly sorry, for the exertions you have undergone on my behalf, but it was unlooked for by me.” She stood, and gave a slight curtsey. “I hope that you are now satisfied that I am well. In my estimation, I have brought no disgrace upon the family by taking on the responsibility of my own maintenance.”
“Well, even though you are intent on turning your back on those at Mansfield, what of your family in Portsmouth? Did you know that your brother William is there and anxious to see you?” asked Miss Crawford.
Fanny trembled with surprise. She thought it abominable and condescending for Miss Crawford to speak so freely of her relations, calling her brother by his first name—but the news that her brother, the so long absent and dearly loved brother, was in England again, filled her with joy. Henry made idle note of the fact of how Miss Price’s face lit up when her brother was mentioned.
“We stopped in Portsmouth on our way to Bristol. Here, Fanny, is a letter that we are pleased to convey to you from your brother, who also sends his love and his earnest desire that you come to Portsmouth. Your mother is of course longing to see you, and worries about you daily.” And Miss Crawford handed over the letter, which, the reader will note, was the only letter, of all those which fell into her hands, that she actually conveyed from sender to recipient in the entirety of our story.
Fanny thought Miss Crawford’s representations of her mother’s feelings were highly doubtful, for as she well knew, her mother was not of a doating disposition, at least not where she was concerned.
“Well, Miss Price, what do you say? Henry and I would be pleased to convey you there…. how long has it been, Fanny, since you have seen your own family? Should you not like to be among them again?”
Perplexity and anger now followed pain and humiliation. Why were the Crawfords so intent on meddling in her affairs? Fanny longed to go see her brother, but did not wish to put herself in the power of this brother and sister, who, every instinct told her, were not her friends.
“I am very much obliged to you, but—I have undertaken to stay with the Smallridges for no less than a year—barely half that time has elapsed—it would not be proper to ask them for leave to go to Portsmouth. Please, please do not trouble yourself further on my account.”
With a nod of thanks, and clutching the precious letter, she was about to make the plea of a headache, when Henry Crawford intervened.
“Do not run away, Miss Price, as I perceive you are longing to do. We have not finished our tea, and you should know that the amiable Mrs. Smallridge has invited us for dinner on the morrow—yes, she has, and no doubt you will be at the table also,” Henry Crawford extended his cup to Fanny for her to refill. Although he and his sister had decided to refrain from informing Fanny of Edmund’s engagement to Mary, he could not forebear, out of mischief, from telling her something of how Maria came to discard Mr. Rushworth. “You have shown very little curiosity about Miss Bertram’s ruptured engagement with the estimable Mr. Rushworth,” he ventured. “You see, Maria discovered herself to be in love with me.”
Fanny nodded, unsmiling.
“And so, we are to be married—or so I am told!” He laughed, but Fanny received the information with grave silence.
“What? No ‘congratulations’? No ‘best wishes’?”
“I do sincerely hope…… that my cousin Maria, and you, will both be very happy, sir.”
“But you doubt it will be so? Or… you doubt we will be happy together? Is that what you think?”
“Now, do not tease her, Henry. You know that our Miss Price is too upright to engage in making artful inferences. Further,” Mary turned to Fanny, “I fear, my dear Fanny, that you have been unwell. You must be very tired. Henry, we shall not detain her longer today, nor prevent our hostess from the use of her own drawing-room. Fanny, my dear, we shall see you again tomorrow and we hope to find you in better looks.”
Mary rose and moved to the door just as Mrs. Smallridge reached it, with her dress and hair newly arranged. Mr. Crawford’s smile told her, her efforts had not been in vain.
Fanny curtsied and departed swiftly, under plea of returning to her duties, and after exchanging further civilities with Mrs. Smallridge, the Crawfords then excused themselves, having much they wished to discuss with each other as they continued to Bristol to find a hostelry for the night.
At least Fanny had the consolation, the more than consolation, of a long letter from William to delight herself with. The letter had been begun at sea, and continued in Portsmouth with a description of the family and their doings, and contrary to Miss Crawford’s assertion, contained no longing message from a worried mother, who, by William’s description, was busily engaged in her usual
