Chapter Eighteen #5
Mrs. Price swatted at him. “Not long now—I had better go see to Betsy.” She turned and gave her guests an apologetic look. “We dine early here, on account of my husband’s work being so tiring. You do not mind the hour being less fashionable?”
“I am sure I could eat,” Mr. Rushworth declared, picking Freddy up and depositing him on the sofa with a playful toss, eliciting a wild shriek of laughter.
“Good Heavens, I had ordered us all a fine dinner at the inn,” Aunt Margaret said. “But of course, we must accept your invitation.”
“Better to disappoint the innkeeper than our gracious hostess,” Mr. Rushworth agreed.
Fanny observed this exchange with wonder and trepidation. She knew the fare would not be what her fine companions expected, and she dearly hoped Mr. Rushworth did not repent his enthusiasm.
Lady Bertram offered Mrs. Price a basket of some provisions. “I brought you this,” said she. “I do not know that you can make any use of it tonight, but I do hope you can use it.”
Mrs. Price accepted the basket, and pulled back the cloth cover to examine the bread, cheese, and produce within—the looks this aroused in the children made it plain that it was far fresher and finer than anything they usually had. “Is this from Norland—from John Dashwood?”
“It is from all of us,” Lady Bertram stammered. “That is, I just took what I thought you might like.”
There was a twinkle in her eye as Mrs. Price nodded. “Very well—thank you. Sister.”
There remained some tension between Mrs. Price and her sisters as they all sat down to their meal.
Though they were a smaller group here than the large party at Norland, it felt quite the opposite, for the dinner was noisy and chaotic.
Fanny might have enjoyed the antics of her siblings were it not for the scolding of their parents, who were always apologizing to their guests, who then in turn refused to admit to any discomfiture at all.
There was too much passing all at once for Fanny to follow it all, but she drank a little wine and did her best to act naturally, as Mrs. Jennings had advised.
The fare was not what she had become accustomed to, but it was good, in a rustic way, and stirred some vague sense of pleasant remembrance in her.
Mr. Rushworth, seated at her side, seemed really to enjoy it, for he had a second helping of everything offered to him, served himself as if it was part of his daily routine, and heartily commended everything so sincerely that Mrs. Price was fairly glowing by the end of the meal.
Fanny watched him on several occasions, but there was no falseness, no play-acting in it as there might have been with Mr. Crawford; he was utterly in earnest.
Her brothers and sisters were all in want of Fanny’s attention, though Mrs. Jennings exerted herself to keep the youngest of them well amused so that Fanny could converse with Susan, who was keen to suggest a walk after their meal.
Mrs. Price encouraged the notion at once, owning that there would be no getting the little ones to bed while Fanny was within the house, and her father really did need the quiet.
Aunt Margaret and Lady Bertram offered to stay behind and help, and Mrs. Price appeared immensely relieved that they rebuffed her every protest. Susan hastened to lead Fanny from the house as if afraid their mother would change her mind, and Mrs. Jennings and Mr. Rushworth followed.
“Well, Fanny,” Susan said as they began walking along the waterfront. “Is it all how you remembered?”
“Everything feels smaller—that is, I was smaller when last I was here, and so everything felt larger then.”
Susan gave a good-natured roll of her eyes. “It is small, Fanny, you can say it. Not so grand as Mansfield Park—but I should love to go there someday. Our Aunt Bertram seems kind—do you think she would ever have me there?”
It had not been all that long since Fanny had doubted whether the Bertrams still wanted her, but she could not burden Susan with a notion such as this. “I am sure she would love to have you visit. Oh, but I wish you could see Norland, for it is even grander than Mansfield.”
Susan turned serious. “Why do you think Mamma never talks about it?”
“About Norland?”
“She grew up there,” Susan mused. She glanced back over her shoulder, but Mrs. Jennings and Mr. Rushworth were several paces behind them.
“I suppose it is because she has come down in the world. And now you are there, and your star on the rise…. but I am happy for you, I really am. I know she is, too.”
“I had not doubted it,” Fanny said, wondering if she ought to have.
“Good. It is all she has talked about since we got your letter, telling us you were coming. I think it annoyed Papa, to hear her talking of you at Norland, like she wanted you to….” Susan stopped and chewed her lip.
“To what?”
“Well, like she thought your being at Norland was some sort of full circle for her, like you might catch a rich, handsome gentleman and make up for her past being what it is.”
“Oh.” Fanny’s heart ached at the thought of it; her mother had started out a proper lady, and she had come down in the world—and it seemed to Fanny that her own trajectory was quite the reverse. “But, she is happy for me?”
“Madly so! She was sure there would be a gentleman,” Susan drawled, nudging Fanny and waggling her eyebrows. Fanny blushed, realizing too late she had given herself away. “Aha,” Susan laughed. “Well, tell me everything.”
Fanny sighed, for she was comfortable enough with her favorite sister, and had drunk just enough wine, to really wish to be amusing. She shook her head and laughed. “Mr. Crawford is handsome, I suppose, very charming—too charming—and technically a gentleman….”
“Technically?”
“Really he is a rake, I think,” Fanny whispered.
“Well, well! And he likes you?”
Fanny considered for a moment, and laughed at her own realization. “He likes being liked.”
“I suppose it is not the same.”
“No, it is not. It is a pity, for his sister is very kind, and I hope we are to be friends, even if I am obliged to refuse her brother.”
Susan had been laughing with Fanny, but now she tensed up. “You would refuse him? If he asked you…?”
“Susan, up until a week ago, he was making love to Cousin Maria. And he had been for quite some time, even before her engagement was broken off. I do not trust him.”
Susan made a queer face, and then shook her head. “I suppose I would not understand all that—if a rich man asked me, I should say yes in a trice, no matter who he made love to.”
Fanny could understand the sentiment—after an hour in her family’s home, she could not judge it at all. But neither could she like it. “I wish you would not say that, Susan. Would you not like to really esteem your partner—to fall in love?”
“I can accomplish that reading a dime novel. Oh, Fanny, I get it, I do. You rich lot, you have everything else already, so you want all the doves and trumpets and whatnot, but I know better than to think of romance like that.”
“That is the saddest thing I ever heard,” Fanny sighed. “I do not know much of romance myself, but I should like to. I should like to have something real, realer than a big house or a fine carriage. Our mother must have loved our father so very much to give it all up, to leave Norland.”
“Aye, but you should hear them now—they go round and round sometimes, and there is no escaping it! Ah, do not listen to me, eh? You shall have your doves and trumpets in the end, just look at you! I cannot get over it! Anyway, you never wrote about this Mr. Crawford—but I was wondering about him.” She gestured backward at Mr. Rushworth.
“Oh! He is… a friend. He has sort of become my protector, deflecting Mr. Crawford when his flirtations become unbearable, which is very often.”
Susan kicked at a stone in the road. “I know you are smart, Fanny. You have had a better education than the rest of us, and seen more of the world—I love you dearly, but you are an idiot.”
“Susan!” Fanny recoiled from her sister.
“No, listen. Perhaps your Mr. Crawford is a cad, but that one came all the way here, dined with us like it was no strange thing, when you know very well he has never seen such a hovel in all his life, and he did not flinch for a minute, did he? And when they were going on about how grand you have grown, he only said that you are kind and good and—he sees more in you than all this,” Susan said, gesturing at Fanny’s gown.
“Maybe you do not see it, but you ought to. Just think about it, would you?”
Fanny considered her sister’s words. “He is a good man,” she admitted. “I think we understand each other, for he is always being overlooked and underestimated, in a way I have long understood. It is very natural we should be friends, for we are not so different in disposition.”
“So you agree with me, then?”
“I think very highly of him, but that is just the problem. He is very high above me, for all my new gowns and everything else. At any rate, he deserves better than somebody who only sees his wealth.”
“I never said anything about that,” Susan replied. “But I know you would never act like that. You are too pure. But you really only prove my point, wanting better for him. You like him, Fanny, and I am just as sure he likes you.”
Fanny had no chance to argue any further, for Mrs. Jennings was calling out to them.
“Miss Price, Miss Price! No, not you, Fanny dear. Miss Susan Price! Come and advise me, dear.” Mrs. Jennings bustled over to them, fairly dragging Mr. Rushworth along with her.
“There is a quaint looking shop just over there, and I thought to stop in and make a purchase—some little presents to bring back as a surprise. Do your brothers and sisters like candy?”
Susan chortled with laughter. “They sure do, ma’am.”
“Well, let us go and see what they have. You know what your sibling would like, far better than I would. Oh, do not delay on our account, Fanny, you must have your exercise. Mr. Rushworth, we shall not be very long—I am sure we will catch you up.”