Edmund Bertram's Diary

‘You must dine with us this evening,’ said Mrs. Grant. She turned to Maria. ‘We cannot prevail upon you to stay with us, of course, Miss Bertram, as rumor has it a certain person might be calling at the Park this evening, and we must not suppose any entertainment we can offer you will be equal to his. But I hope we may prevail upon you, Mr. Bertram, and you, Miss Julia, to join us.’

Maria returned to the Park and Julia and I spent a very agreeable evening at the Parsonage, with a fine dinner and Miss Crawford’s excellent harp to entertain us. Crawford joined her in a song and persuaded Julia to join in, too. Usual y reluctant to sing, she yielded to Crawford’s entreaties and we were all very well entertained.

Julia and I walked home through the warm summer evening, glowing and cheerful, but when we returned to the Park we found that Maria, Mama and Aunt Norris were very much the reverse. Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book and wore a scowl; Mama was half asleep and even Aunt Norris was silent. Fanny was nowhere to be seen, but when I asked if she had gone to bed, her own gentle voice spoke from the other end of the room and she said she was on the sofa.

‘That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away all the evening upon a sofa,’ my aunt scolded her. ‘Why cannot you come and sit here, and employ yourself as we do? If you have no work of your own, I can supply you from the poor-basket. You should learn to think of other people; and take my word for it, it is a shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa.’

‘I must say, ma’am, that Fanny is as little upon the sofa as anybody in the house,’ remarked Julia.

Fanny by this time had joined my aunt at the table, and I saw that she was looking far from well. When I questioned her, she admitted she had a headache, and that she had had one since before dinner. It was not hard to find out why, for my aunt had sent her out into the garden to cut roses.

‘It was very hot,’ said Mama, ‘though it was shady enough in the alcove where I was sitting.’

I was vexed that Fanny had been so ill used, and further vexed to discover that she had not only been standing and stooping in the hot sun, but that she had been sent across the park to my aunt’s house twice, the first time to take the roses and the second time to lock the door.

‘For she forgot to lock it the first time, so she was obliged to go again,’ said my aunt.

‘This should never have happened,’ I said, as I put my hand sympathetically on Fanny’s head. ‘It was too hot for anyone to walk much in the sun today, and certainly too hot for Fanny.’

‘If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she would not be knocked up so soon,’ said my aunt. ‘She has not been out on horseback now this long while, and I am persuaded that when she does not ride she ought to walk.’

I said no more, but took a glass of Madeira to Fanny and made her drink it. Vexed as I was with Mama and Aunt Norris for keeping her out so long in the sun, I was more vexed with myself, for it was I who had deprived her of her exercise by encouraging Miss Crawford to ride the mare. And it was I who had left her without any choice of companionship whilst we were away.

However unwilling I was to check a pleasure of Miss Crawford’s, I resolved that Fanny must have the mare whenever she wanted, for I would not see her ill again.

Thursday 4 August

I made good my resolve and took Fanny out for a ride this morning. I found that I had missed her company. The pleasant, fresh-feeling morning inspired us to travel farther afield than usual and we rode to Bridge’s farm. We cal ed in to see Mrs. Bridge, for Fanny had heard that she was not well, and found her in bed with the new baby beside her. The other children were running wild, for although the eldest girl did her best, the younger ones would not mind her. Fanny set about seeing to Mrs. Bridge’s comfort and helping her with the baby whilst I cal ed the children to order, and soon they were useful y occupied. When we left the house there were fresh flowers in an earthenware jar on the windowsill, the floor had been swept, Mrs. Bridge was easy, the baby was sleeping, and the other children were playing outside in the sunshine. We returned to the house. Having seen Fanny safely indoors, I went round to the stables to speak to the coachman, and when I went into the house at last I found that Rushworth and his mother were there. They had revived the plan of a visit to Sotherton and it had been decided that we would all go on Wednesday; all except Fanny, who was to stay at home with Mama.

‘I am sure Fanny would like the visit,’ I said. ‘I know she particularly wants to see the avenue. She may take my place and I will stay at home with you, Mama.’

There were the usual protests but at last I had my way.

Monday 8 August