Mansfield Park
there began now to be some danger of dissimilarity, for he was in a
line of admiration of Miss Crawford, which might lead him where Fanny
could not follow. Miss Crawford’s attractions did not lessen. The harp
arrived, and rather added to her beauty, wit, and good-humour; for she
played with the greatest obligingness, with an expression and taste
which were peculiarly becoming, and there was something clever to be
said at the close of every air. Edmund was at the Parsonage every day,
to be indulged with his favourite instrument: one morning secured an
invitation for the next; for the lady could not be unwilling to have a
listener, and every thing was soon in a fair train.
A young woman, pretty, lively, with a harp as elegant as herself, and
both placed near a window, cut down to the ground, and opening on a
little lawn, surrounded by shrubs in the rich foliage of summer, was
enough to catch any man’s heart. The season, the scene, the air, were
all favourable to tenderness and sentiment. Mrs. Grant and her tambour
frame were not without their use: it was all in harmony; and as
everything will turn to account when love is once set going, even the
sandwich tray, and Dr. Grant doing the honours of it, were worth
looking at. Without studying the business, however, or knowing what he
was about, Edmund was beginning, at the end of a week of such
intercourse, to be a good deal in love; and to the credit of the lady
it may be added that, without his being a man of the world or an elder
brother, without any of the arts of flattery or the gaieties of small
talk, he began to be agreeable to her. She felt it to be so, though she
had not foreseen, and could hardly understand it; for he was not
pleasant by any common rule: he talked no nonsense; he paid no
compliments; his opinions were unbending, his attentions tranquil and
simple. There was a charm, perhaps, in his sincerity, his steadiness,
his integrity, which Miss Crawford might be equal to feel, though not
equal to discuss with herself. She did not think very much about it,
however: he pleased her for the present; she liked to have him near
her; it was enough.
Fanny could not wonder that Edmund was at the Parsonage every morning;
she would gladly have been there too, might she have gone in uninvited
and unnoticed, to hear the harp; neither could she wonder that, when
the evening stroll was over, and the two families parted again, he
should think it right to attend Mrs. Grant and her sister to their
home, while Mr. Crawford was devoted to the ladies of the Park; but she
thought it a very bad exchange; and if Edmund were not there to mix the
wine and water for her, would rather go without it than not. She was a
little surprised that he could spend so many hours with Miss Crawford,
and not see more of the sort of fault which he had already observed,
and of which _she_ was almost always reminded by a something of the
same nature whenever she was in her company; but so it was. Edmund was
fond of speaking to her of Miss Crawford, but he seemed to think it
enough that the Admiral had since been spared; and she scrupled to
point out her own remarks to him, lest it should appear like
ill-nature. The first actual pain which Miss Crawford occasioned her
was the consequence of an inclination to learn to ride, which the
former caught, soon after her being settled at Mansfield, from the
example of the young ladies at the Park, and which, when Edmund’s
acquaintance with her increased, led to his encouraging the wish, and
the offer of his own quiet mare for the purpose of her first attempts,
as the best fitted for a beginner that either stable could furnish. No
pain, no injury, however, was designed by him to his cousin in this
offer: _she_ was not to lose a day’s exercise by it. The mare was only
to be taken down to the Parsonage half an hour before her ride were to
begin; and Fanny, on its being first proposed, so far from feeling
slighted, was almost over-powered with gratitude that he should be
asking her leave for it.
Miss Crawford made her first essay with great credit to herself, and no
inconvenience to Fanny. Edmund, who had taken down the mare and
presided at the whole, returned with it in excellent time, before
either Fanny or the steady old coachman, who always attended her when
she rode without her cousins, were ready to set forward. The second
day’s trial was not so guiltless. Miss Crawford’s enjoyment of riding
was such that she did not know how to leave off. Active and fearless,
and though rather small, strongly made, she seemed formed for a
horsewoman; and to the pure genuine pleasure of the exercise, something
was probably added in Edmund’s attendance and instructions, and
something more in the conviction of very much surpassing her sex in
general by her early progress, to make her unwilling to dismount. Fanny
was ready and waiting, and Mrs. Norris was beginning to scold her for
not being gone, and still no horse was announced, no Edmund appeared.
To avoid her aunt, and look for him, she went out.
The houses, though scarcely half a mile apart, were not within sight of
each other; but, by walking fifty yards from the hall door, she could
look down the park, and command a view of the Parsonage and all its
demesnes, gently rising beyond the village road; and in Dr. Grant’s
meadow she immediately saw the group—Edmund and Miss Crawford both on
horse-back, riding side by side, Dr. and Mrs. Grant, and Mr. Crawford,
with two or three grooms, standing about and looking on. A happy party
it appeared to her, all interested in one object: cheerful beyond a
doubt, for the sound of merriment ascended even to her. It was a sound
which did not make _her_ cheerful; she wondered that Edmund should
forget her, and felt a pang. She could not turn her eyes from the
meadow; she could not help watching all that passed. At first Miss
Crawford and her companion made the circuit of the field, which was not
small, at a foot’s pace; then, at _her_ apparent suggestion, they rose
into a canter; and to Fanny’s timid nature it was most astonishing to
see how well she sat. After a few minutes they stopped entirely. Edmund
was close to her; he was speaking to her; he was evidently directing
her management of the bridle; he had hold of her hand; she saw it, or
the imagination supplied what the eye could not reach. She must not
wonder at all this; what could be more natural than that Edmund should
be making himself useful, and proving his good-nature by any one? She
could not but think, indeed, that Mr. Crawford might as well have saved
him the trouble; that it would have been particularly proper and
becoming in a brother to have done it himself; but Mr. Crawford, with
all his boasted good-nature, and all his coachmanship, probably knew
nothing of the matter, and had no active kindness in comparison of
Edmund. She began to think it rather hard upon the mare to have such
double duty; if she were forgotten, the poor mare should be remembered.
Her feelings for one and the other were soon a little tranquillised by
seeing the party in the meadow disperse, and Miss Crawford still on
horseback, but attended by Edmund on foot, pass through a gate into the
lane, and so into the park, and make towards the spot where she stood.
She began then to be afraid of appearing rude and impatient; and walked
to meet them with a great anxiety to avoid the suspicion.
“My dear Miss Price,” said Miss Crawford, as soon as she was at all
within hearing, “I am come to make my own apologies for keeping you
waiting; but I have nothing in the world to say for myself—I knew it
was very late, and that I was behaving extremely ill; and therefore, if
you please, you must forgive me. Selfishness must always be forgiven,
you know, because there is no hope of a cure.”
Fanny’s answer was extremely civil, and Edmund added his conviction
that she could be in no hurry. “For there is more than time enough for
my cousin to ride twice as far as she ever goes,” said he, “and you
have been promoting her comfort by preventing her from setting off half
an hour sooner: clouds are now coming up, and she will not suffer from
the heat as she would have done then. I wish _you_ may not be fatigued
by so much exercise. I wish you had saved yourself this walk home.”
“No part of it fatigues me but getting off this horse, I assure you,”
said she, as she sprang down with his help; “I am very strong. Nothing
ever fatigues me but doing what I do not like. Miss Price, I give way
to you with a very bad grace; but I sincerely hope you will have a
pleasant ride, and that I may have nothing but good to hear of this
dear, delightful, beautiful animal.”
The old coachman, who had been waiting about with his own horse, now
joining them, Fanny was lifted on hers, and they set off across another
part of the park; her feelings of discomfort not lightened by seeing,
as she looked back, that the others were walking down the hill together
to the village; nor did her attendant do her much good by his comments
on Miss Crawford’s great cleverness as a horse-woman, which he had been
watching with an interest almost equal to her own.
“It is a pleasure to see a lady with such a good heart for riding!”
said he. “I never see one sit a horse better. She did not seem to have
a thought of fear. Very different from you, miss, when you first began,
six years ago come next Easter. Lord bless you! how you did tremble
when Sir Thomas first had you put on!”
In the drawing-room Miss Crawford was also celebrated. Her merit in
being gifted by Nature with strength and courage was fully appreciated
by the Miss Bertrams; her delight in riding was like their own; her
early excellence in it was like their own, and they had great pleasure
in praising it.
“I was sure she would ride well,” said Julia; “she has the make for it.
Her figure is as neat as her brother’s.”
“Yes,” added Maria, “and her spirits are as good, and she has the same
energy of character. I cannot but think that good horsemanship has a
great deal to do with the mind.”
When they parted at night Edmund asked Fanny whether she meant to ride
the next day.
“No, I do not know—not if you want the mare,” was her answer.
“I do not want her at all for myself,” said he; “but whenever you are
next inclined to stay at home, I think Miss Crawford would be glad to
have her a longer time—for a whole morning, in short. She has a great
desire to get as far as Mansfield Common: Mrs. Grant has been telling
her of its fine views, and I have no doubt of her being perfectly equal
to it. But any morning will do for this. She would be extremely sorry
to interfere with you. It would be very wrong if she did. _She_ rides
only for pleasure; _you_ for health.”
“I shall not ride to-morrow, certainly,” said Fanny; “I have been out
very often lately, and would rather stay at home. You know I am strong
enough now to walk very well.”
Edmund looked pleased, which must be Fanny’s comfort, and the ride to
Mansfield Common took place the next morning: the party included all
the young people but herself, and was much enjoyed at the time, and
doubly enjoyed again in the evening discussion. A successful scheme of
this sort generally brings on another; and the having been to Mansfield
Common disposed them all for going somewhere else the day after. There
were many other views to be shewn; and though the weather was hot,
there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go. A young party is
always provided with a shady lane. Four fine mornings successively were
spent in this manner, in shewing the Crawfords the country, and doing
the honours of its finest spots. Everything answered; it was all gaiety
and good-humour, the heat only supplying inconvenience enough to be