As Fanny stitched away at her sister’s trousseau in the following weeks, she silently tormented herself with wondering how William Gibson, sitting in his prison cell in York, had felt when he received her letter. Every variety of human sentiment passed across her mind; she saw him reading her words with tenderness or with resentment, with regret for having forced the unhappy choice upon her, or with scorn at her timidity or even with relief, at being freed from someone who was so unsuited to be his wife. Yes, of all things, she hoped he was secretly relieved, that the pain of their separation lay as lightly as possible on him. She would even rather think of him as filled with anger and resentment, than picture him desolate and abandoned in a dark prison cell.
In fact, the conditions of his imprisonment were not so grim as she feared and certainly not as dire as Betsey and Charles imagined. He was not shackled hand and foot in a damp, dripping dungeon, nor was he put to the rack. As a state prisoner, he was not thrown in with the coarser sort of thieves and vagrants, and his accommodations were not much different from the humble rooms he habitually rented in London or Portsmouth, the main difference being, of course, that he was not permitted to leave them.
Fanny longed for and dreaded the postman’s knock. Silence and uncertainty were almost preferable to what he might say to her.
When a letter did come, it was addressed to Betsey.
I apologise for the circumstances which prevent me from calling upon you to conclude our story of the fair Princess Tamatina, he wrote.
In my absence, for however long it may be, please be assured I will hold you and all of your family in my thoughts, most warmly and affectionately.
Here, in brief, is the end of the story of Reginald and the Princess. After many adventures, Reginald brought the fair princess to reside in England. She was as gentle and innocent as a little bird, and so, leaving her beloved home and going to the remote, cold and strange country called England, was exceedingly difficult for her. Alas, Reginald saw that his beloved Tamatina could not accustom herself to a place so different in its manners, customs and climate. Her affectionate heart pined for her family. She drooped and saddened; he feared for her health, even her life. Reginald realised it was wrong of him to ask her to forsake everything she held dear.
For the love of her, he consented to their parting. He never ceased to regret her, of course, and she remained in his mind as the loveliest, kindest, noblest woman he had ever known.
Remember to pay attention to your lessons,
Your fellow story-teller,
William Gibson
Chapter 4: London, February 1813
Harriet Butters had for a number of years resided near London, rather than her native Bristol, to be near her son and his family. When she left the city in which she had passed most of her days, when she left her many close acquaintance and the fine mansion bestowed upon her by her late husband, she expected to find compensation in the respectful attentions of her son and daughter-in-law.
Alas, as Mrs. Butters’ many friends could attest, this expectation was unfulfilled. And why should she, or her friends, shrink from speaking plainly of the lamentable want of affection, duty and regard shown her?
Mrs. Butters had been particularly vexed the previous summer when her daughter-in-law Cecilia vowed she would never again cross her mother-in-law’s threshold so long as Miss Price resided there. Yes, there had been a peculiar scandal in Fanny’s past—she had pretended to be married to the late Henry Crawford—but she had not, as vulgar-minded persons might suppose, lived with Mr. Crawford without benefit of clergy. In Mrs. Butter’s estimation Miss Price was guilty only of being over-eager to assist her brother to a promotion; her love for her brother had overcome her usual prudence But when the story reached her daughter-in-law’s ears, it provided her with an excellent pretext for an attack against Miss Price. The denunciations of Cecilia Butters forced Fanny out of her teaching position at the sewing academy, and she vowed, moreover, to keep her three innocent daughters away from their grandmother’s house so long as Fanny resided there.
The old widow did not doubt that enmity, rather than offended virtue, lay behind Cecilia Butters’ attack on Fanny. The younger Mrs. Butters was jealous of the preference given to Miss Price. Fanny, through the sly stratagem of being innocent, mild-tempered and friendless, had won the old woman’s compassion. Further, using her devious arts of kind attention and unfailing respect, she had secured to herself a sincere return of that affection.
Mrs. Butters hoped that the intercourse between the senior and junior branches of the family would improve when Miss Price removed to Portsmouth in the wake of her father’s death. But although she had triumphed over her rival, the change did not bring an amendment in the cold manners of Cecilia Butters. Her visits to her mother-in-law’s house were rare and brief. She brought her daughters along only grudgingly, and then perhaps only to point out how very trying it was to go visiting in the winter without having a carriage at one’s disposal.
Mrs. Butters ultimately concluded that removing herself might be the best remedy. Both mother and daughter-in-law would find it easier to be civil to each at a distance. The widow resolved to return to her native city, where many affectionate friends and relations might supply in part what was deficient in nearer domestic ties. Her sense of what was due to her as a parent may have been wounded, but she was not without other sources of consolation. She wished to invite Fanny Price to come and live with her once again, but
