Mansfield Park
generation to generation, through two centuries at least, and were now
spending from two to three thousand a year in.” Miss Crawford listened,
and Edmund agreed to this. “The air of a gentleman’s residence,
therefore, you cannot but give it, if you do anything. But it is
capable of much more. (Let me see, Mary; Lady Bertram bids a dozen for
that queen; no, no, a dozen is more than it is worth. Lady Bertram does
not bid a dozen. She will have nothing to say to it. Go on, go on.) By
some such improvements as I have suggested (I do not really require you
to proceed upon my plan, though, by the bye, I doubt anybody’s striking
out a better) you may give it a higher character. You may raise it into
a _place_. From being the mere gentleman’s residence, it becomes, by
judicious improvement, the residence of a man of education, taste,
modern manners, good connexions. All this may be stamped on it; and
that house receive such an air as to make its owner be set down as the
great landholder of the parish by every creature travelling the road;
especially as there is no real squire’s house to dispute the point—a
circumstance, between ourselves, to enhance the value of such a
situation in point of privilege and independence beyond all
calculation. _You_ think with me, I hope” (turning with a softened
voice to Fanny). “Have you ever seen the place?”
Fanny gave a quick negative, and tried to hide her interest in the
subject by an eager attention to her brother, who was driving as hard a
bargain, and imposing on her as much as he could; but Crawford pursued
with “No, no, you must not part with the queen. You have bought her too
dearly, and your brother does not offer half her value. No, no, sir,
hands off, hands off. Your sister does not part with the queen. She is
quite determined. The game will be yours,” turning to her again; “it
will certainly be yours.”
“And Fanny had much rather it were William’s,” said Edmund, smiling at
her. “Poor Fanny! not allowed to cheat herself as she wishes!”
“Mr. Bertram,” said Miss Crawford, a few minutes afterwards, “you know
Henry to be such a capital improver, that you cannot possibly engage in
anything of the sort at Thornton Lacey without accepting his help. Only
think how useful he was at Sotherton! Only think what grand things were
produced there by our all going with him one hot day in August to drive
about the grounds, and see his genius take fire. There we went, and
there we came home again; and what was done there is not to be told!”
Fanny’s eyes were turned on Crawford for a moment with an expression
more than grave—even reproachful; but on catching his, were instantly
withdrawn. With something of consciousness he shook his head at his
sister, and laughingly replied, “I cannot say there was much done at
Sotherton; but it was a hot day, and we were all walking after each
other, and bewildered.” As soon as a general buzz gave him shelter, he
added, in a low voice, directed solely at Fanny, “I should be sorry to
have my powers of _planning_ judged of by the day at Sotherton. I see
things very differently now. Do not think of me as I appeared then.”
Sotherton was a word to catch Mrs. Norris, and being just then in the
happy leisure which followed securing the odd trick by Sir Thomas’s
capital play and her own against Dr. and Mrs. Grant’s great hands, she
called out, in high good-humour, “Sotherton! Yes, that is a place,
indeed, and we had a charming day there. William, you are quite out of
luck; but the next time you come, I hope dear Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth
will be at home, and I am sure I can answer for your being kindly
received by both. Your cousins are not of a sort to forget their
relations, and Mr. Rushworth is a most amiable man. They are at
Brighton now, you know; in one of the best houses there, as Mr.
Rushworth’s fine fortune gives them a right to be. I do not exactly
know the distance, but when you get back to Portsmouth, if it is not
very far off, you ought to go over and pay your respects to them; and I
could send a little parcel by you that I want to get conveyed to your
cousins.”
“I should be very happy, aunt; but Brighton is almost by Beachey Head;
and if I could get so far, I could not expect to be welcome in such a
smart place as that—poor scrubby midshipman as I am.”
Mrs. Norris was beginning an eager assurance of the affability he might
depend on, when she was stopped by Sir Thomas’s saying with authority,
“I do not advise your going to Brighton, William, as I trust you may
soon have more convenient opportunities of meeting; but my daughters
would be happy to see their cousins anywhere; and you will find Mr.
Rushworth most sincerely disposed to regard all the connexions of our
family as his own.”
“I would rather find him private secretary to the First Lord than
anything else,” was William’s only answer, in an undervoice, not meant
to reach far, and the subject dropped.
As yet Sir Thomas had seen nothing to remark in Mr. Crawford’s
behaviour; but when the whist-table broke up at the end of the second
rubber, and leaving Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris to dispute over their
last play, he became a looker-on at the other, he found his niece the
object of attentions, or rather of professions, of a somewhat pointed
character.
Henry Crawford was in the first glow of another scheme about Thornton
Lacey; and not being able to catch Edmund’s ear, was detailing it to
his fair neighbour with a look of considerable earnestness. His scheme
was to rent the house himself the following winter, that he might have
a home of his own in that neighbourhood; and it was not merely for the
use of it in the hunting-season (as he was then telling her), though
_that_ consideration had certainly some weight, feeling as he did that,
in spite of all Dr. Grant’s very great kindness, it was impossible for
him and his horses to be accommodated where they now were without
material inconvenience; but his attachment to that neighbourhood did
not depend upon one amusement or one season of the year: he had set his
heart upon having a something there that he could come to at any time,
a little homestall at his command, where all the holidays of his year
might be spent, and he might find himself continuing, improving, and
_perfecting_ that friendship and intimacy with the Mansfield Park
family which was increasing in value to him every day. Sir Thomas heard
and was not offended. There was no want of respect in the young man’s
address; and Fanny’s reception of it was so proper and modest, so calm
and uninviting, that he had nothing to censure in her. She said little,
assented only here and there, and betrayed no inclination either of
appropriating any part of the compliment to herself, or of
strengthening his views in favour of Northamptonshire. Finding by whom
he was observed, Henry Crawford addressed himself on the same subject
to Sir Thomas, in a more everyday tone, but still with feeling.
“I want to be your neighbour, Sir Thomas, as you have, perhaps, heard
me telling Miss Price. May I hope for your acquiescence, and for your
not influencing your son against such a tenant?”
Sir Thomas, politely bowing, replied, “It is the only way, sir, in
which I could _not_ wish you established as a permanent neighbour; but
I hope, and believe, that Edmund will occupy his own house at Thornton
Lacey. Edmund, am I saying too much?”
Edmund, on this appeal, had first to hear what was going on; but, on
understanding the question, was at no loss for an answer.
“Certainly, sir, I have no idea but of residence. But, Crawford, though
I refuse you as a tenant, come to me as a friend. Consider the house as
half your own every winter, and we will add to the stables on your own
improved plan, and with all the improvements of your improved plan that
may occur to you this spring.”
“We shall be the losers,” continued Sir Thomas. “His going, though only
eight miles, will be an unwelcome contraction of our family circle; but
I should have been deeply mortified if any son of mine could reconcile
himself to doing less. It is perfectly natural that you should not have
thought much on the subject, Mr. Crawford. But a parish has wants and
claims which can be known only by a clergyman constantly resident, and
which no proxy can be capable of satisfying to the same extent. Edmund
might, in the common phrase, do the duty of Thornton, that is, he might
read prayers and preach, without giving up Mansfield Park: he might
ride over every Sunday, to a house nominally inhabited, and go through
divine service; he might be the clergyman of Thornton Lacey every
seventh day, for three or four hours, if that would content him. But it
will not. He knows that human nature needs more lessons than a weekly
sermon can convey; and that if he does not live among his parishioners,
and prove himself, by constant attention, their well-wisher and friend,
he does very little either for their good or his own.”
Mr. Crawford bowed his acquiescence.
“I repeat again,” added Sir Thomas, “that Thornton Lacey is the only
house in the neighbourhood in which I should _not_ be happy to wait on
Mr. Crawford as occupier.”
Mr. Crawford bowed his thanks.
“Sir Thomas,” said Edmund, “undoubtedly understands the duty of a
parish priest. We must hope his son may prove that _he_ knows it too.”
Whatever effect Sir Thomas’s little harangue might really produce on
Mr. Crawford, it raised some awkward sensations in two of the others,
two of his most attentive listeners—Miss Crawford and Fanny. One of
whom, having never before understood that Thornton was so soon and so
completely to be his home, was pondering with downcast eyes on what it
would be _not_ to see Edmund every day; and the other, startled from
the agreeable fancies she had been previously indulging on the strength
of her brother’s description, no longer able, in the picture she had
been forming of a future Thornton, to shut out the church, sink the
clergyman, and see only the respectable, elegant, modernised, and
occasional residence of a man of independent fortune, was considering
Sir Thomas, with decided ill-will, as the destroyer of all this, and
suffering the more from that involuntary forbearance which his
character and manner commanded, and from not daring to relieve herself
by a single attempt at throwing ridicule on his cause.
All the agreeable of _her_ speculation was over for that hour. It was
time to have done with cards, if sermons prevailed; and she was glad to
find it necessary to come to a conclusion, and be able to refresh her
spirits by a change of place and neighbour.
The chief of the party were now collected irregularly round the fire,
and waiting the final break-up. William and Fanny were the most
detached. They remained together at the otherwise deserted card-table,
talking very comfortably, and not thinking of the rest, till some of
the rest began to think of them. Henry Crawford’s chair was the first
to be given a direction towards them, and he sat silently observing
them for a few minutes; himself, in the meanwhile, observed by Sir
Thomas, who was standing in chat with Dr. Grant.
“This is the assembly night,” said William. “If I were at Portsmouth I
should be at it, perhaps.”
“But you do not wish yourself at Portsmouth, William?”
“No, Fanny, that I do not. I shall have enough of Portsmouth and of
dancing too, when I cannot have you. And I do not know that there would
be any good in going to the assembly, for I might not get a partner.
The Portsmouth girls turn up their noses at anybody who has not a
commission. One might as well be nothing as a midshipman. One _is_
nothing, indeed. You remember the Gregorys; they are grown up amazing
fine girls, but they will hardly speak to _me_, because Lucy is courted
by a lieutenant.”