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Read books online » Fiction » Mansfield Park by Jane Austen (thriller books to read TXT) 📖

Book online «Mansfield Park by Jane Austen (thriller books to read TXT) 📖». Author Jane Austen



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and finding herself quite unable to attend as she ought to Mrs. Grant, by whose side she was now following the others, she had nearly resolved on going home immediately, and only waited for courage to say so, when the sound of the great clock at Mansfield Park, striking three, made her feel that she had really been much longer absent than usual, and brought the previous self-inquiry of whether she should take leave or not just then, and how, to a very speedy issue.

With undoubting decision she directly began her adieus; and Edmund began at the same time to recollect that his mother had been inquiring for her, and that he had walked down to the Parsonage on purpose to bring her back.

 

Fanny’s hurry increased; and without in the least expecting Edmund’s attendance, she would have hastened away alone; but the general pace was quickened, and they all accompanied her into the house, through which it was necessary to pass.

Dr. Grant was in the vestibule, and as they stopt to speak to him she found, from Edmund’s manner, that he did mean to go with her. He too was taking leave.

She could not but be thankful. In the moment of parting, Edmund was invited by Dr. Grant to eat his mutton with him the next day; and Fanny had barely time for an unpleasant feeling on the occasion, when Mrs. Grant, with sudden recollection, turned to her and asked for the pleasure of her company too. This was so new an attention, so perfectly new a circumstance in the events of Fanny’s life, that she was all surprise and embarrassment; and while stammering out her great obligation, and her “but she did not suppose it would be in her power,”

was looking at Edmund for his opinion and help. But Edmund, delighted with her having such an happiness offered, and ascertaining with half a look, and half a sentence, that she had no objection but on her aunt’s account, could not imagine that his mother would make any difficulty of sparing her, and therefore gave his decided open advice that the invitation should be accepted; and though Fanny would not venture, even on his encouragement, to such a flight of audacious independence, it was soon settled, that if nothing were heard to the contrary, Mrs. Grant might expect her.

 

“And you know what your dinner will be,”

said Mrs. Grant, smiling—“the turkey, and I assure you a very fine one; for, my dear,” turning to her husband, “cook insists upon the turkey’s being dressed tomorrow.”

 

“Very well, very well,” cried Dr. Grant, “all the better; I am glad to hear you have anything so good in the house.

But Miss Price and Mr. Edmund Bertram, I dare say, would take their chance. We none of us want to hear the bill of fare.

A friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, is all we have in view. A turkey, or a goose, or a leg of mutton, or whatever you and your cook chuse to give us.”

 

The two cousins walked home together; and, except in the immediate discussion of this engagement, which Edmund spoke of with the warmest satisfaction, as so particularly desirable for her in the intimacy which he saw with so much pleasure established, it was a silent walk; for having finished that subject, he grew thoughtful and indisposed for any other.

CHAPTER XXIII

“But why should Mrs. Grant ask Fanny?” said Lady Bertram.

“How came she to think of asking Fanny? Fanny never dines there, you know, in this sort of way. I cannot spare her, and I am sure she does not want to go.

Fanny, you do not want to go, do you?”

 

“If you put such a question to her,” cried Edmund, preventing his cousin’s speaking, “Fanny will immediately say No; but I am sure, my dear mother, she would like to go; and I can see no reason why she should not.”

 

“I cannot imagine why Mrs. Grant should think of asking her?

She never did before. She used to ask your sisters now and then, but she never asked Fanny.”

 

“If you cannot do without me, ma’am—” said Fanny, in a self-denying tone.

 

“But my mother will have my father with her all the evening.”

 

“To be sure, so I shall.”

 

“Suppose you take my father’s opinion, ma’am.”

 

“That’s well thought of. So I will, Edmund. I will ask Sir Thomas, as soon as he comes in, whether I can do without her.”

 

“As you please, ma’am, on that head; but I meant my father’s opinion as to the propriety of the invitation’s being accepted or not; and I think he will consider it a right thing by Mrs. Grant, as well as by Fanny, that being the first invitation it should be accepted.”

 

“I do not know. We will ask him. But he will be very much surprised that Mrs. Grant should ask Fanny at all.”

 

There was nothing more to be said, or that could be said to any purpose, till Sir Thomas were present; but the subject involving, as it did, her own evening’s comfort for the morrow, was so much uppermost in Lady Bertram’s mind, that half an hour afterwards, on his looking in for a minute in his way from his plantation to his dressing-room, she called him back again, when he had almost closed the door, with “Sir Thomas, stop a moment—I have something to say to you.”

 

Her tone of calm languor, for she never took the trouble of raising her voice, was always heard and attended to; and Sir Thomas came back. Her story began; and Fanny immediately slipped out of the room; for to hear herself the subject of any discussion with her uncle was more than her nerves could bear. She was anxious, she knew—

more anxious perhaps than she ought to be—for what was it after all whether she went or staid? but if her uncle were to be a great while considering and deciding, and with very grave looks, and those grave looks directed to her, and at last decide against her, she might not be able to appear properly submissive and indifferent.

Her cause, meanwhile, went on well. It began, on Lady Bertram’s part, with—“I have something to tell you that will surprise you. Mrs. Grant has asked Fanny to dinner.”

 

“Well,” said Sir Thomas, as if waiting more to accomplish the surprise.

 

“Edmund wants her to go. But how can I spare her?”

 

“She will be late,” said Sir Thomas, taking out his watch; “but what is your difficulty?”

 

Edmund found himself obliged to speak and fill up the blanks in his mother’s story. He told the whole; and she had only to add, “So strange! for Mrs. Grant never used to ask her.”

 

“But is it not very natural,” observed Edmund, “that Mrs. Grant should wish to procure so agreeable a visitor for her sister?”

 

“Nothing can be more natural,” said Sir Thomas, after a short deliberation; “nor, were there no sister in the case, could anything, in my opinion, be more natural.

Mrs. Grant’s shewing civility to Miss Price, to Lady Bertram’s niece, could never want explanation. The only surprise I can feel is, that this should be the first

time of its being paid. Fanny was perfectly right in giving only a conditional answer. She appears to feel as she ought. But as I conclude that she must wish to go, since all young people like to be together, I can see no reason why she should be denied the indulgence.”

 

“But can I do without her, Sir Thomas?”

 

“Indeed I think you may.”

 

“She always makes tea, you know, when my sister is not here.”

 

“Your sister, perhaps, may be prevailed on to spend the day with us, and I shall certainly be at home.”

 

“Very well, then, Fanny may go, Edmund.”

 

The good news soon followed her. Edmund knocked at her door in his way to his own.

 

“Well, Fanny, it is all happily settled, and without the smallest hesitation on your uncle’s side.

He had but one opinion. You are to go.”

 

“Thank you, I am so glad,” was Fanny’s instinctive reply; though when she had turned from him and shut the door, she could not help feeling, “And yet why should I be glad?

for am I not certain of seeing or hearing something there to pain me?”

 

In spite of this conviction, however, she was glad.

Simple as such an engagement might appear in other eyes, it had novelty and importance in hers, for excepting the day at Sotherton, she had scarcely ever dined out before; and though now going only half a mile, and only to three people, still it was dining out, and all the little interests of preparation were enjoyments in themselves.

She had neither sympathy nor assistance from those who ought to have entered into her feelings and directed her taste; for Lady Bertram never thought of being useful to anybody, and Mrs. Norris, when she came on the morrow, in consequence of an early call and invitation from Sir Thomas, was in a very ill humour, and seemed intent only on lessening her niece’s pleasure, both present and future, as much as possible.

 

“Upon my word, Fanny, you are in high luck to meet with such attention and indulgence! You ought to be very much obliged to Mrs. Grant for thinking of you, and to your aunt for letting you go, and you ought to look upon it as something extraordinary; for I hope you are aware that there is no real occasion for your going into company in this sort of way, or ever dining out at all; and it is what you must not depend upon ever being repeated.

Nor must you be fancying that the invitation is meant as any particular compliment to you; the compliment is intended to your uncle and aunt and me. Mrs. Grant thinks it a civility due to us to take a little notice of you, or else it would never have come into her head, and you may be very certain that, if your cousin Julia had been at home, you would not have been asked at all.”

 

Mrs. Norris had now so ingeniously done away all Mrs. Grant’s part of the favour, that Fanny, who found herself expected to speak, could only say that she was very much obliged to her aunt Bertram for sparing her, and that she was endeavouring to put her aunt’s evening work in such a state as to prevent her being missed.

 

“Oh! depend upon it, your aunt can do very well without you, or you would not be allowed to go. I shall be here, so you may be quite easy about your aunt. And I hope you will have a very agreeable day, and find it all mighty delightful.

But I must observe that five is the very awkwardest of all possible numbers to sit down to table; and I cannot but be surprised that such an elegant lady as Mrs. Grant should not contrive better! And round their enormous great wide table, too, which fills up the room so dreadfully!

Had the doctor been contented to take my dining-table when I came away, as anybody in their senses would have done, instead of having that absurd new one of his own, which is wider, literally wider than the dinner-table here, how infinitely better it would have been! and how much more he would have been respected! for people are never respected when they step out of their proper sphere.

Remember that, Fanny. Five—only five

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