‘Well, Fanny, and how do you like Miss Crawford now?’ I asked her as I took a seat.
‘Very well,’ she said with a smile. ‘Very much. I like to hear her talk. She entertains me; and she is so extremely pretty, that I have great pleasure in looking at her.’
‘She has a wonderful play of feature!’ I agreed, lost, for the moment, in remembrance of her beauty. But then I returned to my reason for coming. ‘Was there nothing in her conversation that struck you, Fanny, as not quite right?’
‘Oh yes!’ she said at once, as though reading my mind. ‘She ought not to have spoken of her uncle as she did.’
I knew she would see it and I let out a sigh as I was reassured that I had not been wrong. But when Fanny went on to speak of Miss Crawford as ungrateful I had to defend her, saying,
‘Ungrateful is a strong word. She is awkwardly circumstanced. With such warm feelings and lively spirits it must be difficult to do justice to her affection for her departed aunt, without throwing a shade on the admiral.’
‘Do not you think,’ said Fanny, after a little consideration, ‘that this impropriety is a reflection upon that aunt, as her niece has been entirely brought up by her?’
At this, I was struck anew by Fanny’s intelligence, for that was undoubtedly the case: Miss Crawford’s faults were not her own, they were the faults of her upbringing.
‘Her present home must do her good,’ I said, much relieved. ‘Mrs. Grant’s manners are just what they ought to be. I am glad you saw it all as I did, Fanny. No doubt, before long, Miss Crawford will see it all as we do, too.’
Having eased my feelings, I spent the afternoon seeing to estate business, but I could not keep my mind on my work, for it kept drifting back to Mary Crawford. She is the kind of woman I most admire, with a slight figure, dainty and elegant, and just the sort of features I love to look at. She has sense and cleverness and quickness of spirits. She is in every way an addition to Mansfield Park.
Saturday 23 July
The harp has arrived, and after dinner at the rectory, Miss Crawford took her place at the instrument. Beyond her was the window, cut down to the ground, and through it I could see the little lawn surrounded by shrubs. Clad in the rich foliage of summer the garden made a striking contrast with her white silk gown and set her off to great advantage. I was surprised at Crawford, who whispered to my sister Maria throughout the recital, for the music was excellent, and I could scarce take my eyes away from Miss Crawford as she played.
‘You are an avid listener, Mr. Bertram,’ she said, as she stood up at last. ‘I do not believe I have ever had a more attentive audience.’
I thought fleetingly of Tom’s ease with women and the kind of clever reply he would have made, but I was not adept at teasing phrases and I could only assure her of my great pleasure in listening to her. It seemed to satisfy her, however, for she smiled at me, and I felt myself drawn to her even more.
The sandwich tray was brought in and Dr Grant did the honors. Even this simple activity seemed full of interest tonight and the time passed so quickly that I could scarcely believe it when it was time to leave.
I thanked Miss Crawford and she said that I must come again. Mrs. Grant echoed her invitation and I accepted with pleasure.
What a summer this is turning out to be!
Monday 25 July
It has always been Miss Crawford’s habit to take a stroll in the evenings and it has now become a regular thing that we all walk out together. My work about the estate is being left to others, and I am spending less time with my family, but I cannot help myself. Miss Crawford is so agreeable that I cannot tear myself away.
Saturday 30 July
‘I saw you ride past my window this morning,’ said Miss Crawford to my sisters as she and her family joined us at the Park for dinner. ‘How I envied you your exercise.’
‘You must come with us,’ said Maria.
‘It would do no good, for I cannot ride.’
‘Cannot ride?’
The idea was startling.
‘Then you must learn,’ said Maria.
‘Alas, I have no horse,’ she said ruefully.
‘Then you must borrow one of ours.’
‘Indeed you must,’ I pressed her. ‘I have just the animal, a quiet mare who is perfect for beginners.’
‘What if I am frightened?’ she asked, glancing at me teasingly, so that I could not tell whether she meant it or not, for her temperament is so different from my own that half the time I do not know how to understand her.
‘There is no need,’ I said, taking her at her word. ‘She is the quietest creature imaginable. I bought her for Fanny when the grey pony died.’
‘In that case I must decline,’ she protested. ‘I cannot think of taking Miss Price’s mare from her. It would be very wrong.’
‘There would be no question of that. If Fanny does not object, it would only mean taking the mare down to the Parsonage half an hour before your ride, well before Fanny usually goes out, and you may both have your exercise.’
Fanny said at once that she did not mind at all.
‘Then I will bring the mare down to the Parsonage tomorrow, ’ I said.
‘And will you instruct me?’ Miss Crawford asked me.
‘If you wish.’
‘I do wish. I will feel safer with you there, for I am sure you will be able to teach me how to go on, you are such an experienced horseman. I should have learned before this; Henry was always trying to teach me; but somehow I never had the urge before now.’
‘Then we must not disappoint you. I will be at the Parsonage early with the groom.’
Her face fell.
‘I have no habit,’ she said.
‘That is nothing,’ said Mrs. Grant, ‘you may borrow one of mine until you can have one made. You will want something in a newer style eventually, but mine will serve you for the present.’
As the ladies continued to talk of their habits, I found myself looking forward to the morrow with an eagerness I have not felt since I was a boy.
Sunday 31 July
I set out after church for the Parsonage, rejoicing in the day. It was calm and serene, with just enough cloud to prevent it being too hot, and a welcome breeze. Miss Crawford was waiting for me, attired in Mrs. Grant’s habit.
‘You must excuse my dress,’ she said drolly, glancing at the yards of material that trailed on the floor behind her. ‘My sister is inches taller than I am.’
Tom would have thought of a compliment, but such things do not spring easily to my mind. Instead I told her that her habit would do very well and helped her to mount. She was almost as light as Fanny, and with my hands round her waist she was soon sitting on the mare. She looked nervous to find herself so far off the ground, but I reassured her, and she laughed at her fears and was soon restored to her usual humor. I gave her instructions on how to sit, and how to hold the reins, and everything else necessary for her to begin, and then told her how to walk forwards, which she did with surprising grace.
‘If I had known it was so enjoyable I would have learnt to ride long ago,’ she said, as her confidence grew, ‘though I suppose with riding, as with everything else, it is the company that determines the enjoyment.’
She cast me a smiling glance and I felt that she had read my mind, for it was her company that was making the day so enjoyable for me.