Chapter Fifteen #4
Mrs. Jennings gave them a bold wink, and then turned about in her chair; she reached toward the sideboard, and hastily grabbed a decanter of something.
“You shall have no privacy in here, I daresay—but if you should wish to take some refreshments into the garden, I am sure I shall say only that you have retired.” She very discreetly passed the decanter to Mary, who laughed and hid it in her skirts before they could be found out.
“A walk in the garden sounds lovely,” Mary cried. “Does it not, Fanny? I am sure we shall keep near the house, and bring some lanterns with us.”
Fanny hesitated, but Mrs. Jennings wagged her finger, suppressing a smile as she attempted to appear stern. “It is for educational purposes, Fanny! I shall brook no refusals!”
“I shall need a warm shawl, but yes, I should like to go with you for a little while. For the sake of my education,” she said with a smirk, though it was not far from the truth.
“Ah, dear girls,” Mrs. Jennings exalted. “What happy events you must wish to discuss! Off with you, off with you now!”
Mary bent down and gave Mrs. Jennings an affectionate kiss on the cheek, and then caught Fanny by the hand and, still concealing their stolen decanter, hastened them from the room.
Though Fanny really did wish to confide in Mary, she knew not how to begin, when they reached the garden.
She wrung her hands as they sat down on a little bench behind the boxwoods together, their lanterns beside them.
Mary pulled the decanter from her skirts, and proceeded to drink from it directly before offering it to Fanny.
“Oh! I had wine with dinner—I am sure I should not….”
“But of course you should,” Mary laughed. “Mrs. Jennings would not lead you astray, and neither would I. Let us partake just enough to speak very candidly indeed.”
As she had begun to do more and more of late, Fanny simply agreed to whatever was happening, and drank directly from the decanter as Mary had done. “Oh, it is Madeira—I like it very well,” she said with bemused embarrassment.
“Well done, Fanny,” Mary said, clapping her hands and taking another drink. “Now tell me—are you as attached to Henry as he seems to be to you?”
“Oh dear! I hardly know—indeed, I am not at all sure how attached to me he is, for it is only this last week he has taken any notice of me at all. But is it not strange that he should go from complete indifference to such marked flirtation?”
Mary groaned, and slouched into an indecorous posture as she sipped the Madeira.
“I hardly know what to tell you. I will say he was not indifferent to you before—but you were not yet out—had you been, I cannot say what might have been. But do tell me what you think of it all—surely your heart cannot be indifferent.”
Fanny chewed her lip as she considered. “No—I am not indifferent, I am sure. At times I am far more at ease with Mr. Crawford than I had thought possible….”
“Oh, fie, fie,” Mary said gaily. “Do call him Henry—there is nobody else about, after all!”
Fanny blushed, and laughed in spite of herself. “Henry,” she said slowly, as if feeling the sound of it on her tongue. She and Mary giggled together for a moment. “I am at ease indeed, oftener and oftener.”
“Were you not before? At Mansfield Park, were you not content?”
Fanny took another sip of the Madeira—a rather long one. “I was not unhappy, I really was not. Perhaps I felt a sort of contentment that falls short of true happiness, though I never thought much of it before I came to Norland.”
“You were never given any consequence before—and indeed, I am sorry to say it, but it is the truth,” Mary said with a commiserating look, “that the Bertrams do not exactly set the example of bliss. You have not been taught how to be happy.”
Fanny was struck by the simplicity of such an idea, and the accuracy of Mary’s conjecture. “This is just why I sought your wisdom.”
“Well, I have very little wisdom regarding Henry at present,” Mary huffed. “I could as soon guess his mind as the weather! But there I cannot help you—I think you are wishing to measure your feelings to his, but I daresay it cannot be done.”
“Oh. You sound rather cross with your brother.”
“If I am, it shall pass, as it always does,” Mary said, laughing it off as she sipped at the Madeira.
“I suppose he sees that I am fond of you, and knows that anything he confided to me would surely be repeated to you—in just such an attitude as this!” She giggled again.
“But really, do you only doubt Henry’s feelings, or your own? ”
“Both,” Fanny said at once. “I still feel some insurmountable anxiety that precludes me from fully trusting him so quickly. I wish to allow the experience of being flirted with, for though it is new to me, I do wish it to cease frightening me so—I do want to enjoy it—as you say, I have never really been taught anything about it. Until this fear is allayed, I shall scarcely be able to judge anything, and I wonder….”
Mary eyed her curiously as Fanny broke off.
Sipping at the Madeira, she quirked an eyebrow and gave Fanny a playful nudge.
“What do you wonder?” When Fanny made no reply, Mary smirked and rolled her eyes.
“You must wonder at his making love to Maria when she was betrothed, and turning his eye upon you as soon as her engagement was broken.”
“Yes! That is it exactly, though I knew not how to frame it so well. Do you not think it strange?”
“I have thought of it, I confess. All I can think is that your uncle does not approve, and would rather have Rushworth for a son-in-law. He might have relented to Maria in a fit of mercy, and thought the better of it later, for he certainly seems determined to push Maria at Rushworth whenever he can. And it would make sense, too,” Mary said; she suddenly gasped as if struck by a great realization.
“Of course—the Bertrams have all rather treated you as an inferior—Henry may not be good enough for Maria, but for you, he may do. Sir Thomas has made some hints that he repents your not being out when first Henry and I came amongst you. He must think Henry worth catching for you, and poor Henry is so broken-hearted over Maria that he has indeed sought affections from you instead. But will you give him solace? Surely this must soften your heart toward him, poor man.”
“I should not wish to be his second choice,” Fanny cried. “I could not bear such a thing as that, not even for….” she clapped a hand over her mouth.
Mary latched onto her shoulders, laughing. “Fanny! Do not tease me so.” But Fanny only shook her head. “Fanny, I am sure you were going to say not even for Edmund. Admit it, you are in love with him, and that is why you cannot get on with Henry!”