Meanwhile Miss Crawford, in conversing with Mr. Chatsworth, felt again all the superiority of Edmund Bertram’s conversation, air and appearance, and again lamented the rash step he had taken in enlisting himself among a body of men who were, in her experience, distinguished by their dullness, or their absurd self-importance, or their hypocrisy in preaching Christian forbearance while indulging their own appetites, whims and ill-tempers (and here she was thinking particularly of her brother-in-law).
Mr. Chatsworth, labouring mightily to make himself agreeable to both the ladies, did allow, upon a saucy enquiry from Miss Crawford, that an unmarried vicar was a constant temptation to the neighbourhood and he could not be too cautious in his dealings with the fair sex. ‘Hadn’t a vicar better marry, and set a good example in his parish?’ And she hinted that no doubt more than one young lady in the vicinity would gladly undertake the role.
Fanny, watching as Miss Crawford toyed with the vicar just for the idle amusement of watching him puff up with vanity, began to count the minutes when her “distant relations” would be on their way back to Northamptonshire.
With such condemnatory thoughts as these residing in her breast, she was completely taken aback when, the men rejoining the ladies after dinner, Henry Crawford asked to speak to her privately for a few moments. With a feeling of foreboding, and a resolution of saying as little to him as possible, she led him to her own little sitting-room-bedchamber adjoining the nursery. Scarcely pausing as they entered the room, Crawford said, “I think that you do not approve of my marrying your cousin Maria, Miss Price.”
Fanny only looked her reply.
“You have it in your power to prevent it.”
Again silence, but now Fanny refused even to look at him.
“If you will impersonate the part of my wife, for some definite period of time—it need not be more than a twelvemonth—I can put it about that you and I are married. You can come live at Everingham, in every comfort, while I—oh, Miss Price, pray sit down. May I fetch you some brandy? Do you have some salts?”
A few more minutes, indeed, were necessary for Fanny to find her breath and steady her racing heart. The indecorum of the suggestion, the barefaced audacity of it, exceeded even the worst she had supposed of Henry Crawford. She became aware, as one becomes aware of a distant noise and realizes the noise has been continuing for some time, that Mr. Crawford was still speaking, outlining the advantages to her of such an arrangement.
“…your person, of course, would be sacrosanct, I would claim no rights over you. All you need do is not contradict the report that we are married. I would settle a handsome allowance on you. As Mrs. Henry Crawford, you could come and go as you please, visit your family, live comfortably at my estate, entertain guests… have you ever been to Norfolk?”
“And what of Maria?” Fanny managed to utter.
“Maria is certain to find a husband within a twelvemonth. She is eager to enter the state, while I, alas….” Crawford spread his hands gracefully. “Once she is married to some other, and no doubt, much worthier man, we can drop the imposture.”
Crawford watched Fanny for some sign that she comprehended the proposal and would not put an immediate negative on it, but she was rendered speechless. “Take your time, Miss Price, consider my offer—I make it in all sincerity. I will return tomorrow morning and I trust you will give me enough of an audience to answer any objections as may occur to you. And remember, the destiny of your cousin Maria is in your hands.”
For the better part of a sleepless night, Fanny pondered and occasionally wept over the corruption and impiety of Henry Crawford. At first, her only concern was to find the words to tell him what she thought of the recklessness of his scheme. For herself, for her own reputation, she had no doubt that impersonating a married woman, after running away from home to be a governess, might so confirm her eccentricity in the eyes of the world as to necessitate her removing herself from society altogether.
The more she condemned Mr. Crawford’s character, however, as immoral, careless and even vicious, the more justifiable it appeared to her that preventing a union with Maria should be a prime object. Should the marriage be effectually prevented, the sacrifice on Fanny’s part, of her own peace of mind and reputation, in exchange for the certain good of preserving Maria—as seemed certain to Fanny—from a lifetime of the bitterest regret, was a reasonable price to pay. Since she, Fanny, would never know earthly happiness, being separated forever from the man she loved, she could at least derive some satisfaction in assisting others. In her humility, she still rated her own claims to worldly happiness so low, and her cousin, being a Bertram, as so high, that once she became convinced the scheme would preserve Maria from a fatal step, she thought that her willingness to undertake this sacrifice for her cousin would be a proof of her gratitude toward the family that even Mrs. Norris, should she ever comprehend the whole,
