Edmund Bertram's Diary

I reached Lessingby and was glad to find myself going up the road to Owen’s house before darkness fell, though the daylight was already fading, dwindling into a soft twilight brightened by the translucent frost.

A light shone in the window. Then the curtain was pull ed back, and the candlelight flooded out in all Its splendor, staining the drive gold with its brilliance. The curtain fell; I was at the door; my horse was taken, and then I was being welcomed into the house by Owen and his family. It was bright inside, so bright that I had to blink, and the heat flowed over me and wrapped itself round me like a blanket.

‘Welcome,’ said Owen’s mother, looking every bit as elegant as she did when I first met her eight years ago. ‘You must be cold. Here, sit by the fire. Beddows, a glass of wine.’

And before long, I found myself seated by the fire with a wineglass in my hand, surrounded by Owen’s family.

His sisters were elegant and pretty and were much grown since my last visit. They were sitting over their needlework; which, however, they neglected so as to listen to the conversation. After the details of my journey had been thoroughly dealt with, and enquiries had been made as to my family’s health, Owen and I began to talk of our forthcoming ordination. It was a relief to be able to talk about it in sympathetic company, knowing the subject would not prompt ridicule or frustration; for with Owen’s father being a clergyman himself, and Owen to be ordained with me, it was a house of clergymen.

We continued our conversation over dinner, and the three Miss Owens added their thoughts. Everyone was very pleasant, and the meal was excellent, and I found myself looking forward to the coming week.

Over the port, we discussed the subject more thoroughly and then went through to the drawing room, where the women entertained us with singing and playing on the pianoforte. I thought of Thomson:

An elegant sufficiency, content,

Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books.

And thought of the three Miss Owens, and how different they were from Mary Crawford.

Thursday 29 December

This has been perhaps the happiest week of my life. To have final y fulfilled my destiny and become ordained has left me feeling at peace with the world.

‘We are so proud of you both,’ said Mrs. Owen this evening over dinner. ‘You are both fine additions to the clergy.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mr. Owen. ‘The church needs young people like you, forward-thinking young men with ideas and energy. Men who will lead by setting a good example to their parishioners, and who will restore the clergy to its proper respectability. There has been too much easy living of late; too much ignoring of parish duties; too many clergymen inclined to take their ease and let others do the work. They do not seem to realize that it is in the work of the church that its future lies. You young men have a chance to make a difference, to enhance your parishioners’

lives with your judgment, example and understanding, and to set the tone of the country for generations to come.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mrs. Owen.

‘I only hope my brother might soon have a living. You have one, I understand, Mr. Bertram,’ said Miss Owen who had grown very pretty.

‘I have, at Thornton Lacey,’ I told her.

‘Thornton Lacey! What a coincidence. We passed through there on our way to Aunt Hester’s in October. I remember it well. The rectory was a gentleman’s residence, and the parish was a good size. Do you mean to live there?’ she asked me.

‘Yes, I do. I can see no point in going into my parish only to read the sermons.’

‘Good, good,’ said Mr. Owen approvingly.

‘And is the house well situated?’ asked Mrs. Owen.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Miss Owen, before I could answer. ‘To be sure, the farm could perhaps be moved, but the situation is admirable. The house is very fine, quite the finest house in the neighborhood, and the view is very pretty. There is a dear little garden, with meadows beyond, and a stream—’ She realized she had said too much and relapsed into silence, blushing. I found myself wishing that Mary could have been as well pleased with the house, but Mary was of a different kind from Miss Owen. I remembered her insulting words at the ball : A clergyman is nothing... can do nothing... be no one... easily satisfied... no ambition... a real man makes his mark in the world....

I was so busy thinking of her that I did not realize Mr. Owen was speaking to me. I brought my thoughts back from their own paths in time to hear Mr. Owen say, ‘You have been fortunate.’

‘Indeed I have.’

‘And how are your friends the Crawfords?’ asked Owen, as the conversation moved away from the church. ‘The Crawfords are the brother and sister of Dr Grant,’ he explained to his family.

‘Mr. Crawford has an estate in Norfolk, and Miss Crawford is an heiress. A beautiful and intelligent young woman by all accounts. Are they still at Mansfield?’

‘For the present, but they will not be there for much longer. Miss Crawford is going to stay in London for an extended visit.’