“Very agreeable indeed! But, her friends in London would not be happy to see Miss Price settled so far away,” said Mr. Gibson. “Moreover, she enjoys visiting the bookshops and sometimes she attends concerts, which she could not do if she was in a remote cottage in Ireland—or Northamptonshire, for that matter. To be consigned to a type of intellectual wilderness could not be pleasant for so well-informed a young lady as Miss Price.”
“I believe, sir, in these modern times, the distance from the metropolis is no barrier to the dissemination of literature and knowledge,” said Edmund. “I belong to two scientific and one historical corresponding societies, and the mail coach carries journals and new publications across the nation within a few days of their leaving the press. However, there are other advantages to life in the country. When one considers the proportion of virtue to vice throughout the kingdom, the countryside is to be preferred. We do not look in great cities for our best morality.”
“That’s true, Edmund,” said William Price. “I remember that poem—‘God made the country, and man made the town.’ And also, there are more lunatics in the city. Why, the woman whom Fanny engaged at the academy—it was that very woman’s husband who shot the prime minister! What might have happened if Fanny had ever met him! Too close for comfort!”
William Gibson was briefly silenced.
“So, how is your novel coming along, Gibson?” William Price ventured after a half a minute marked only by the sound of knives and forks scraping on plates. “Can you tell us anything about it? Julia says you had better include a romance. She says young ladies won’t read a novel that doesn’t include a love story.”
“She is quite right, too! But since the novel is set in the future, the distant future, I have been speculating whether the condition of women in society will improve as much in the next hundred years, as in the last.”
“How interesting!” exclaimed William Price, and to do him credit, he did not interrupt his friend with a panegyric on the perfections of the lady he was to marry on the morrow, and the absolute harmony subsisting between them. “What do you predict, Gibson?”
“I predict a prodigious change in the future. I predict that intelligent and well-educated women will have the freedom to choose their own abodes and control their own income. Women will cease to be the plaything or possession of men.”
“Are your creations entirely the product of your imagination, Mr. Gibson?” asked Edmund.
“No doubt every writer owes a debt to those who have come before him, sir. As Dr. Johnson said, ‘in order to write, a man—”
“—will turn over half a library to make one book,” Edmund finished for him. “Oxford?”
“Cambridge.”
“I look forward to reading your novel, Mr. Gibson, and examining your portraits of the man and woman of the future,” said Edmund. “If I might venture to give a hint, supposing your aim is to hold a mirror up to human nature, I maintain that even an independent woman will not disdain the loyalty and affection of her oldest friends, and the privilege of solicitude conferred by long-established family ties. For example, I should not call myself a tyrant, simply because it matters a great deal to me where my cousin Fanny goes, or who she lives with, or associates with. I have been Fanny’s constant friend since she was ten years old, when she first came to us at Mansfield.”
“And she was only eighteen, I think, when she... departed.” And William Gibson gave Edmund Bertram a direct look which said: When she ran away, that is. When she was so miserable she ran away.
“Well!” exclaimed William Price. “Time will tell where Fanny chooses to go in the future. Julia and I are very happy to have her here with us, for our wedding. And you too, my good friends.”
This plea for peace and amity did not fall on heedless ears, and William’s guests raised their glasses in tribute to the bride and groom and happy married love.
* * * * * * *
The wedding party set out from Mrs. Price’s door in good time; Charles and Betsey, scrubbed up and coaxed into their best clothes, led the way. Fanny impressed upon the children the necessity for decorum and Charles only attempted to trip Betsey twice, and Betsey only squealed a few times. Then came Fanny and Susan; Susan self-conscious but happy in her new gown, and Fanny looking very well, even in her black gown and bonnet, for her heart was full of tender feelings for her brother and Julia.
Edmund Bertram escorted Julia, who was so completely happy that she sometimes neglected to keep her eyes downcast, as befitted a bride. She smiled, sometimes even laughed, as they walked to the chapel. Her beautiful gown, which cost more than the combined incomes of the local residents, was hidden under a light woollen cloak. Mrs. Norris and Mrs. Price brought up the rear, Mrs. Price absorbed in her thoughts, scarcely hearing the murmured commentary, predictions, warnings and expostulations of her older sister.
Naturally the wedding
