By Susan’s questions, however, Fanny understood that Susan saw that much was wrong at home, and wanted to set it right. This accounted for her impatience with her mother, her angry remonstrance of her brothers. That a girl of fourteen, acting only on her own unassisted reason, should err in the method of reform, was not wonderful; and Fanny soon became more disposed to admire the natural light of the mind which could so early distinguish justly, than to censure severely the faults of conduct to which it led.
In the late afternoon, Mr. Crawford came to fetch her and was invited to join the family for tea, and she was grateful for the tranquility and good humour with which he took his seat and waited, without appearing to wait, for tea which in all probability might not come until darkness fell. He made himself very agreeable to the three Price boys as they came rattling in, and even took little Betsey up on his lap to admire her.
As Fanny now sat looking at Betsey, she could not but think particularly of another sister, a very pretty little girl, whom she had left there when she went into Northamptonshire, who had died a few years afterwards. There had been something remarkably amiable about her. While considering her with these ideas, she saw that Betsey was holding out something to catch her eyes, meaning to screen it at the same time from Susan's.
“What have you got there, my love?” said Fanny.
It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan, claiming it as her own, and trying to get it away; but the child hopped off of Mr. Crawford’s lap and ran to her mother's protection, and Susan could only reproach, which she did very warmly, and evidently hoping to interest Fanny on her side. “It was very hard that she was not to have her own knife; it was her own knife; little sister Mary had left it to her upon her deathbed. But mama kept it from her, and was always letting Betsey get hold of it; and the end of it would be that Betsey would spoil it, and get it for her own, though mama had promised her that Betsey should not have it.”
Fanny was quite surprised at Susan’s disrespect to their mother and her mother’s partial and ill-judging answer.
“Now, Susan,” cried Mrs. Price, in a complaining voice, “now, how can you be so cross? You are always quarrelling about that knife. I wish you would not be so quarrelsome. Poor little Betsey; how cross Susan is to you! But you should not have taken it out, my dear, when I sent you to the drawer. You know I told you not to touch it, because Susan is so cross about it. I must hide it another time, Betsey. Poor Mary little thought it would be such a bone of contention when she gave it me to keep, only two hours before she died. Poor little soul!”
Without a word, Henry Crawford reached into his pocket, extracted his watch and fob, and removed from its chain, a very elegant little mother-of-pearl-handled knife which he promptly and with ceremony, presented to Betsey, who snatched at it with cries of joy. Susan, now confirmed in the undisputed ownership of Mary’s knife, thanked him warmly, and Fanny envied the decisiveness of a character which so quickly saw a solution to the dilemma and acted upon it.
Acknowledging her smile of thanks, Crawford reflected to himself that there were some young ladies in the world who were pleased by other things than idle flattery.
On the following day, the Crawfords, man and wife, called one last time at the Price’s door, but only to bid them adieu. The entire household lined up outside the front door to watch as Mr. Crawford assisted Fanny into the carriage and tucked a travelling robe carefully around her. At the last moment, Mrs. Price held up her hand, signaling them to wait, ran inside, and in a few moments she returned with a little package. “William left this for me to give to you, Fanny, and he should have been very put out if I had forgotten!” Fanny opened the package and found a little amber cross that William had bought for her while in Sicily, and Fanny looked at it affectionately, then looked up at Mr. Crawford, who silently mouthed the words “one… two…three….” and she knew he was counting off the time before her tears would start to flow, so she smiled, and checked herself.
No sooner had the carriage pulled out of sight when Mrs. Price exclaimed, “Bless me, I forgot to give Fanny those letters for her! I found them and put them away most carefully in my wardrobe so no one could lose them again. Still, I don’t suppose it signifies any more. She is no longer our Fanny, but Mrs. Crawford now.”
Shilling! Betsey exclaimed to herself.
* * * * * *
“Now, Mrs. Crawford, what do you think? We will stop off in London and get your wedding clothes made up and your portrait taken, shall we? Then heigh ho, for Norfolk and the peace and quiet of the countryside! For you, that is.”
Fanny’s eyes widened with alarm. “But—London—my cousins—Maria!”
“Never fear, Mrs. Crawford,” he said, leaning forward as though to impart a great confidence. “London is a great place, and we need not worry about encountering them.”
“Still—are there not mantua-makers and portrait-takers to be
