Edmund Bertram's Diary

Yates left this morning. My father walked him to the door and wished him a pleasant journey. I believe he was glad to see him go, for Yates is just the trifling, silly sort of fellow my father does not like. Indeed, I believe Julia is the only one of our party who will miss him, for she spent a great deal of time with him when he was here; perhaps more than was wise, considering that my father would never welcome him as a suitor. But she is young, and she will soon forget him. My aunt soon followed Yates out of the door, carrying a parcel.

‘I will not inconvenience you by making you dispose of the green baize curtains,’ she said to my father. ‘I will dispose of them somehow; indeed I believe I could use a pair of green baize curtains in my own home.’

Friday 21 October

The house seemed quiet today, for with Yates and Crawford gone, and the Grants excluded —

my father not wishing to meet new people just at the moment — we were reduced only to ourselves. I did not regret Yates, but I regretted the Grants, and with them the Crawfords. I said as much to Fanny as we went outside for our stargazing.

‘The Grants have a claim. They seem to belong to us; they seem to be part of ourselves. I am afraid they may feel themselves neglected. But the truth is, that my father hardly knows them. If he knew them better, he would value their society as it deserves; for they are in fact exactly the sort of people he would like. We are sometimes a little in want of animation among ourselves.’

‘It does not appear to me that we are more serious than we used to be — I mean before my uncle went abroad. As well as I can recollect, it was always much the same.’

‘I believe you are right, Fanny. The novelty was in our being lively. Yet, how strong the impression that only a few weeks will give! I have been feeling as if we had never lived so before.’

‘Do you not think the house is better for being quieter?’ asked Fanny. I brought my thoughts back from their pleasant paths.

‘It is certainly a relief to have Yates and Rushworth gone. Miss Crawford we must always miss. She has been so kind to you, Fanny, that it grieves me to be without her company, but I am sure my father will want more society once he has accustomed himself to being at home.’

Fanny looked dismayed, and I asked her if she were warm enough, for the night was cold, and once I was assured she was comfortable we turned our attention to the night sky. The peace and tranquility of it were balm to my spirit, and Fanny’s spirit blossomed, too. Together we traced the constellations and did not leave off until a cold wind sprang up and drove us indoors. Once back in my room, my thoughts returned again to Mary. When I think of her, and all the light and liveliness she has brought me, I feel admiration swelling up inside me, for she has shown me a side of life I never knew existed.

I am serious, too serious, I know it. My responsibilities have made me that way. But when I listen to her... watch her... talk to her... my responsibilities melt away and I feel young, as I ought to.

Monday 24 October

I happened to go past the Parsonage today and encountered Miss Crawford and Mrs. Grant just setting out for a walk. I begged leave to accompany them and before long the three of us were walking along together.

‘What a pity the play came to nothing, after you had all worked so hard on it,’ said Mrs. Grant.

‘We must not be surprised that Sir Thomas wanted his house to himself,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘It was not to be supposed that he would welcome intrusion after his return from such a long absence.’

‘No, indeed. But it is a pity, all the same. I found myself enjoying it and I was looking forward to playing the role of Cottager’s Wife. She was a woman of good sense if not many lines.’ She turned to me. ‘And was your father pleased to be home? It must be a very big change to him, after his year in the Indies.’

‘Yes, indeed, but he is very glad to be back with us, particularly as his business was successful y concluded, for he missed Mansfield and his family.’

‘He found you all In health and looks, which was a blessing, ’ said Miss Crawford.

‘Yes. He commented particularly on Fanny’s improved appearance. He was very glad to find her looking so well.’

‘She is at an age when improvements are general y to be found. I hope she did not mind him telling her so, for she seems almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women are of neglect.’

I smiled at this, for it was true, and when I spoke to Fanny later, I noticed that she blushed again when I referred to my father’s remarks.

‘You must real y begin to harden yourself to the idea of being worth looking at. You must try not to mind growing up into a pretty woman,’ I told her.

She looked at the floor in confusion, for she seems to have no idea of it, and yet Fanny is one of the prettiest young women of my acquaintance. Were it not for Miss Crawford, indeed, I believe she would be the prettiest.

Tuesday 25 October