I trust that these strong objections, nay, these insuperable obstacles, are as evident to you as they are to all your friends.
“Heaven support me!” Fanny exclaimed to herself. “How justly am I punished for my deceit with Henry Crawford and everything that arose out of it! But, to be called to follow the path of duty when every feeling of affection and friendship rises in rebellion against it!”
Her thoughts turned, as they always did in moments of distress, to the comforter and supporter of her childhood—her cousin Edmund. Alas, there was no comfort to be found there, no palliating excuse, no encouraging recollection. Rather, she remembered his instant dislike of Mr. Gibson, when they met on the occasion of the wedding of his sister Julia to her brother William. His disapprobation was surprising to her and difficult to comprehend. No doubt, once the word of Mr. Gibson’s arrest reached Edmund in Belfast, he would echo the counsels of his father.
She thought of all her brothers and sisters. Her brother John lived in London where he worked as a clerk at the Marine Police office. He was a good friend of William Gibson, but he was also very strict in maintaining that the laws of the land must be obeyed. Would John’s prospects be blighted if his brother-in-law was a convicted criminal? Would he be condemned to remain a clerk, scribbling lists of ship manifests for the rest of his days? And what of her brother William’s future career? And what of her brother Sam, still a midshipman and hoping to earn promotion before the war ended?
And Susan—was Susan’s silence and mournful countenance occasioned solely by her concern for Fanny, or was there a nearer, more intimate, source of grief? When they had retired to bed these past two nights, Susan had not said a word to her, but had turned her face toward the wall and pulled the covers up past her chin.
And Jacob Miller had not called on them recently, either.
Fanny sat by the embers of the fire for hours, weeping and struggling with herself.
* * * * * * *
Fanny was still wearing black for her father, more out of a conviction of what was fitting to be done, than actual loss. Indeed, she grieved that she could not grieve for him. Now, she was sorrowful in good earnest, mourning the end of all her plans for her future. If she did not marry William Gibson, she saw no alternative to remaining in Portsmouth with her mother. She might find some employment—but the experience of being driven out of her position at the sewing academy made her reluctant to apply anywhere else.
Yet, she did not hesitate the following morning. After pushing aside an untouched breakfast, she walked out alone. She would fix, commit, condemn herself. She would put an end to the anguish arising out of indecision, and choose the numb misery of a resolution which broke her heart.
She arrived at the Miller’s establishment, she turned the door-handle and stepped in, the cheerful tinkle of the bell sounded like a mocking laugh. She waited whilst some other people, who wanted nothing more than bread, were served. When she reached the front of the counter, Jacob Miller could not conceal his surprise and curiousity.
She gave him a wavering little smile, which perplexed him the more.
“Miss Price?” he said. “What… do you…”
“Will you take me to see your father, please—if he is at liberty to speak to me? I shall not take very much of his time.” She heard herself speak and thought she sounded tolerably composed, though her heart was racing.
“Oh. Oh certainly, Miss Price.” Jacob collected himself and motioned her to step around the counter. He escorted her down a long hallway filled with barrels and bags to a cramped back office, whose severe gloom was relieved by one small window. Mr Miller sat there, working at a desk piled high with ledgers. The older man looked up and glowered as Jacob announced her, and only half-rose from his seat in acknowledgement, before resuming his work.
Fanny stood, irresolute, until Jacob offered her a chair. She looked up at him, and her expression conveyed that she wished to be alone with his father. She listened for the sound of Jacob’s footsteps retreating down the hall, then quietly took her seat.
Fanny sat without moving or speaking while Mr. Miller made some entries in one of his ledgers, which he did slowly and deliberately, dipping his quill and adding up a column of figures. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the wall and the scratching of Mr. Miller’s pen. At last, the merchant threw down his quill and looked up at her.
“Well, Miss Price?”
Scarcely able to meet his disapproving glare, Fanny said, “Mr. Miller, I came to say something very particular to you.”
“Are you come to plead with me to allow my son to marry your sister?” Mr. Miller fetched a deep breath, evidently in preparation for issuing a long and stern rebuke, but Fanny swiftly answered: “No sir, I am come to inform you I shall not marry Mr. Gibson, nor will I ask any of my family or friends to acknowledge his acquaintance hereafter.”
“Indeed!” Mr. Miller was momentarily taken aback. The speech he had just been preparing and was on the point of delivering now appeared to be unnecessary, but it was no easy matter for him, having harnessed and saddled all of his arguments, to pull in the reins so abruptly.
“Marriage, Miss Price, is not just about them who are going to be married. It is the joining of two families. And I would never allow my son to call a radical jailbird like Mr. Gibson his brother. And aye, Jacob is of age, but I told him, if he takes a step without my blessing,
