“Grown? I should be pleased if she grew a little taller. A more commanding height might help her overcome her timidity. She has put on some flesh, after she was so ill two years ago. That is not to be wondered at, since she has had my example before her! I have been her dining companion this past twelvemonth.”
“But you know that I am referring to her character. She was excessively shy upon first acquaintance, and could hardly meet one’s eye when speaking, and appeared to think so lowly of herself. You have done a great deal for her, ma’am.”
Mrs. Butters smiled proudly. “It was mostly my doing, I cannot deny. Of course, when you met her, she was employed as a governess, so she was naturally speaking with the diffidence of a servant. As my guest, she can meet you as an equal. Still, she never expects to be singled out in any way, and it always seems to take her by surprise. Therefore she can be overmodest, tiresomely so. That is what I have set about correcting and bless her, she has borne with my chiding very patiently.”
“But only look at her now, conversing so composedly with Mrs. Stephen, and Mrs. Wakefield and Mr. Bootle as well!”
“Believe me, she would have crawled under the table or fainted dead away had I placed her with such eminent persons a year ago!”
Mr. Gibson nodded and smiled, and once again, the urge to protect Fanny Price rose strongly within him, a wish to take care of her and keep her from harm, and see her always as happy and well-respected as she was tonight.
“Fanny still thinks herself unequal to anything and everything. She will give an immediate negative to any proposal which catches her unawares,” Mrs. Butters added, laying particular emphasis on the word proposal. “For example, when I suggested she become a sewing instructress, her first reaction was to decline it absolutely, and I was at some pains to persuade her she could do it, and do it very well, and of course I was proven correct.”
Her friend nodded thoughtfully. “She needs time to adjust her thoughts, when presented with something new. We can always expect her first answer to be ‘no.’”
“But, we are not to be discouraged upon that account!” His hostess exclaimed, for it had long been her belief that Mr. Gibson and Miss Price would make an excellent match, if they only had enough income between them to enter on married life. “And now I think she sees us, my dear Mr. Gibson, and suspects we are speaking of her. See how she blushes.”
At the close of the evening, Mrs. Butters held on to Mr. Gibson, making sure he was the last of her guests to leave, so that he and Fanny had a few moments’ opportunity for private conversation. The kindly widow’s manoeuvrings were apparent to both of her young guests, and brought more self-conscious blushes to Fanny’s cheeks, but she loved Mrs. Butters too well to resent it, and their final parting exchange, with Fanny’s warm and intelligent praise of his work, did nothing to lessen Mr. Gibson’s good opinion of her.
* * * * * * *
Edmund recalled discussing the vagaries of memory with his cousin Fanny—how retentive memory could be, how faulty at other times. He had taught her that memories can be deceptive, even about things one feels certain of—the dimensions of the family drawing room, for example. It ought to look larger with half the furniture gone—Maria’s pianoforte, his mother’s sofa, both gone to Norfolk, yet the room seemed smaller than he remembered. All the windows were boarded over now. It was at this window he had stood and star-gazed with Fanny, then turned and been enchanted by the sight of Mary Crawford, who had walked up that evening from the parsonage with her brother Henry, and she had joined in singing a glee with the other young people. He had watched the singers, their faces aglow in the candlelight, and hoped she would stay in his life forever.
That night, Mary’s presence had filled the room with life and spirit—she was more dazzling to him than the constellations. But now—could things inanimate be called sad? A light film of dust lay over the once spotless floors, and the abandoned side tables and wing chairs, covered with sheets, looked like an assembly of ungainly and unambitious ghosts. Surely this room was melancholy and reproachful. The family was gone— she was gone.
“The prospect from these windows must be quite pleasant, Mr. Bertram,” he heard Lady Delingpole say, and he was brought again to the present.
“Indeed it is ma’am, our family always gathered here in the evening. Through here, of course, is the main dining room. With the communicating doors opened, there is adequate room for dancing. We have had a dozen couples stand up here in the past. And if you would care to follow me...”
He led the Delingpoles from the east to the west wing of the house, through the breakfast room, the billiard room, his father’s study, and the library. “You must visit my home to sample the actual volumes, your lordship, as I inherited most of my father’s books, those he did not take with him,” Edmund explained.
“It appears you also purloined half the furniture for your own house, Mr. Bertram!” Lady Delingpole observed. “No matter. This lovely home should be all new furnished, should it not, Lord Delingpole?”
“My
