Edmund Bertram's Diary

Our business concluded, William and I rode back to the Park and I took the chain upstairs, thinking to find Fanny in her sitting-room, but she was out. No sooner did I sit down to write her a note, explaining that the chain was hers, and what it was for, than she entered the room. Hardly had I handed it to her when she told me that Mary had already given her a chain for that very purpose. I was heartened to hear of it, and then thought, a moment later, that I should have expected it, because Mary has always been thoughtful, particularly where Fanny is concerned. Fanny said she would return Mary’s gift, but I would not allow it, for it would be mortifying to Mary.

‘But it was given to her by her brother,’ said Fanny. ‘I tried not to take it when I knew, but she insisted, saying he gave her so many things, one more or less did not signify. But I was not comfortable with it then, and I am not comfortable with it now, the more so because it is no longer needed.’

‘Miss Crawford must not suppose it not wanted, not acceptable, at least,’ I said. ‘I would not have the shadow of a coolness arise between the two dearest objects I have on earth. Wear hers for the ball, and keep mine for commoner occasions.’

And so it was settled, and I was heartened as I returned to my room, to know that Mary had so much generosity in her.

Thursday 22 December

It is not only Mary who has generosity in her, it is also her brother, for he has done a very kind thing. He has offered to convey William to London, whither he is bound himself, and has invited him to spend the evening at Admiral Crawford’s. This is just the kind of notice that will help William in his career. To be brought to the attention of an admiral can do him nothing but good. I went down to the Parsonage shortly afterwards, intending to thank Crawford for his kindness, and to engage his sister for the first two dances at the ball. Crawford was from home, but Mary took my thanks very prettily and invited me to sit down.

‘I am here on another errand as well,’ I said. ‘I have come to ask if you would stand up with me for the first two dances.’

‘Certainly,’ she said, adding, ‘For it will be the last time I will ever dance with you.’

‘But why? What is this? You are to return from London, surely? I thought you were only going to pay a visit to your friends.’

‘And so I am, but when I return, you and I will never again be partners.’

I was astonished. ‘How so?’

‘I have never danced with a clergyman, and I never will.’

I could not make her out. Was she joking? If so, it was in very poor taste. If not... At that moment Mrs. Grant came in and I could not say any more about it, but as soon as I returned to the Park I sought out Fanny.

‘I come from Dr Grant’s,’ I said to her. ‘You may guess my errand there, Fanny. I wished to engage Miss Crawford for the two first dances.’

‘And did you succeed?’

‘Yes, she is engaged to me; but...’ I forced a smile. ‘... she says it is to be the last time that she ever will dance with me. She is not serious. I think, I hope, I am sure she is not serious; but I would rather not hear it. For my own sake, I could wish there had been no ball just at — I mean not this very week, this very day; tomorrow I leave home.’

‘I am very sorry that anything has occurred to distress you. This ought to be a day of pleasure. My uncle meant it so.’

‘Oh yes, yes! and it will be a day of pleasure,’ I said, recollecting myself, for the ball was intended for Fanny, and I did not want to spoil her enjoyment. ‘It will all end right. I am only vexed for a moment. I have been pained by her manner this morning, and cannot get the better of it.’

I shook my head as I thought that Mary’s former companions had encouraged her in such shall ow opinions and poor taste.

Fanny thought as I did, that Mary’s words were the effect of a poor education.

‘Yes, education! Her uncle and aunt have much to answer for!’

Fanny hesitated.

‘Excuse the liberty; but take care how you talk to me,’ she said gently. ‘Do not tel me anything now, which hereafter you may be sorry for. The time may come—’

‘The time will never come, I have almost given up every serious idea of her,’ I said, shaking my head, for the more I remembered her words and expression, the more I began to feel that I had been a fool to believe I could ever win her. ‘But I must be a blockhead indeed, if, whatever befell me, I could think of your kindness and sympathy without the sincerest gratitude,’ I said to Fanny with a smile.

We were disturbed by the housemaid and, though I would have liked to say more, this prevented further conversation.